New Blood
by PersuasionRomanza
Summary: The children of the House of Night crew enter and create even more drama than their parents. Lust, love, affinities and sex, who needs fallen angels when we have these kids around?
1. Private Studio

**I am taking the advice of a loyal reader and going back and placing the POVs in the earlier chappies. I also am combining some of the shorter ones so that our chapter list isn't so dang high. Enjoy rereading some of the old stuff if you feel like brushing up on the earlier mythology revolving around our precious HON kids.**

**

* * *

Alden**

The smell of paint swam through the air and wrapped its tender fingers about my body and pulled me into the studio, my studio. It was obvious that this room belonged to me and all time that was spent in this area should always be run by me. I glanced around the corner and saw bright lights emitting from the room. Whoever was using the space was using it with audacious pugnacity. Ballsy dipshits! This is _my _room. Sure, my mom was the headmistress here and arguably the most talented vamp in the world. No, I did not let it go to my head, but I did willingly take the perks.

Perk one; her talents have been passed to me in the form of art. Perk two; being a supremely talented priestess's son with a noted artistic affinity, I am gifted with my _own_ studio. Studio space may not necessarily be hard to come by, but it's much easier to focus in my own space. It's also much easier to spend time with my figure models without other students breathing heavily in my space… Hmmm, figure models.

I looked around the corner and I could see bright lights flooding from the room. Whoever was using my studio didn't care if anyone noticed his or her presence. "Private Studio" is clearly marked on the door! Who the hell would have the balls to use _my _studio? The entire House of Night knows who I am and what I do!

Enough! Ballsy dipshit! I walked around the corner and threw open the door, loudly so the person would know someone had entered. I was absolutely giddy to see the guy drop his paintbrushes and run away when he was caught.

Ballsy dipshit… With a superb ass that I had never had the opportunity to tap. I would know, I never forget. Ah hell.

I feel the need to back up and explain myself. My last statements could be used as judgments against me, for which I would like to defend myself. I understand that you may not have heard of me, so let me introduce myself so that you have an idea as to who I am, what makes me say such chauvinistic statements, and act in such an abrasive way.

I am Alden Marc Redbird. It's a pleasure to meet you. Being a fifth former at the House of Night, I already have a reputation. Now, if you have not heard of my reputation I am sure, judging from your looks you have an idea as to what it is. I have been called everything from womanizer, to Casanova (thank you?), to philanderer, to Lothario, to the climax of what every male wishes to be. Some of this is entirely earned, and I take full credit. While other parts are purely the offspring of gossip. I have heard stories based on my exploits that are ridiculous. But hey, if girls are lying about sleeping with me, I can't be all bad, can I?

I would like to say I'm not your typical notarized rounder, but I'm sure you'll soon figure out that we're basically all the same. We find seduction attractive and we grow bored quickly. What would you expect with products of the disposable age?

I should step off of my soapbox before I slit my own throat trying to defend my actions. Here are the facts: girls are easy and they react well to my… abilities. Human, fledgling, or vamp, it really makes little to no difference, they love me and I love them. There was not a girl in my high school I did not make a play for that I did not get. I have made my rounds at the House of Night and now I am in my fourth quarter stage, hoping for some trade-ins.

Back to the ass. "Excuse me?" I asked as sweetly as possible.

The girl turned, her wavy black hair swinging around her shoulders. She looked at me confused and then placing the paintbrush in her mouth (very, very sexy) she pulled out her iPod ear bud.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." She said, removing the paintbrush from her mouth (hot) while accidentally wiping paint on her cheek.

She was the type of girl you picture with combat boots and ripped jeans on the front of some calendar, bending over a '62 Dodge Challenger...

She had a distinct hot mess quality that this school had been missing for a long—no, the entire time I had been the local skirt chaser. She was of regular height, neither short nor tall, but curvy with a small waist and long legs. She had on a long ragged flannel shirt that curved over her small chest with the sleeves that were rolled up to her elbows, paint was _everywhere_. Her shorts were ripped and also covered in paint, but beneath the grungy nineties rocker outfit was an indie beauty seducing me. The girl stared at me and all I could think of was ripping off her Tom's shoes and laying her down on the floor right _now_. I could forgive the studio interference—this once.

"I'm sorry," She said again, more forcefully this time. "Did you say something?"

I broke from my dirty thoughts and smiled as brilliantly as possible. Laughing slightly, I walked over and brushed the blue paint from her cheek and murmured, "Welcome to my studio."

* * *

**Finley**

Who the hell did this guy think he was? I can't find a decent space to paint for hours and when I finally begin to make progress he comes in all Upper-East-Side-pretentious and yells at me. Right in the middle of a spectacular Iron and Wine rift, I might add. I was just about to get the shadow blended perfectly when he interrupts me! Then, just to make me as frigging angry as a Cobain in-between-meth days, he just stares at me like I'm some homeless man in a painting studio and my clothes are covered in crap.

It's paint you moron!

"I'm sorry," I pause and decide I should put more venom into my words. "Did you say something?"

That got him, he snapped out of whatever self-worshipping thoughts he had going on and walked over to me. He smiled, what I am quite sure he thought was the most panty-dropping smile of all time, and knelt down wiping something off of my cheek. Oh, awesome, I had paint on my face. "Welcome to my studio," he breathed into my ear, sending shivers down to my toes.

Okay, this idiot has some game. But that doesn't change the fact that he interrupted my—ah shit! _His_ studio? He's Alden Redbird? "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that the "Private Studio" message meant _your_ studio." Great, I am painting in Alden Redbird's studio, that's like painting in the Sistine Chapel, when Michelangelo was on a break… and he walked in on you... and you got paint on the floor. Awesome, I look like the biggest effing tool on the planet. I could feel the rush of blood flood to my cheeks.

His smile widened and he offered his hand. "I'm Alden Marc Redbird, I know the middle name is pretentious, but my mom likes when I use it... You know, artist's namesake."

I took his hand and shook it weakly, hating myself. All of my energy was spent cursing obscenities in my head. Suddenly, I realized, oh shit, Alden Redbird can see my painting. I mean, he can _see it _and pick out ever little detail that sucks about what I am painting… I shifted over to stand in front of my canvas, hopefully he hasn't looked yet… "Hi, I'm Finley."

Alden Redbird was the most talented artist in the world. Literally, at this moment _everyone_ was vying for his work. His talent was one that hadn't been met since the classics. Modern art had been a big bag of nothing until this kid came on the scene. Being a fledgling artist myself, I know that I have talent. At my last school I was the best, that's why I was sent here, to study in the same air as Alden Redbird. You know, as if his talent could seep into me by osmosis. Ridiculous. Now, on my first day, no first hour, I had offended the resident prodigy. And from what I could tell, the attractive, womanizing prodigy. Yay.

Alden continued to stare at me. He had deep brown almond shaped eyes that were framed by a fringe of dark straight hair that stuck up messily around his face. His mark, like his super famous mother's, was completely filled in and added to. I knew he had not Changed yet, and here he was looking like a fully changed Vampyre. His mark was not the normal sapphire but a dark shade of purple, almost amethyst, with light lines of curves and spikes around his brows. He was tall and sinewy, the type of guy who walked by and everyone, girls and guys, turned to stare. He also was the type of guy who would sleep with absolutely every girl and give details to every guy about it.

I straightened my shoulders and crossed my arms, bracing myself for whatever insults he shot at me. He was an elite, far above whatever rank I would be considered, rich, tailored, pampered, and gifted, not only by vamps but also by the goddess.

"It's nice to meet you Finley. What are you painting?" He leaned back and glanced (easily) over my shoulder at my painting.

I shuddered and realized blocking the canvas was a lost cause, he was too tall. "Its an abstract."

"Obviously." He replied quickly and cockily.

I found that last kick of cockiness annoying so I slapped my brush into my cup and stepped over to let him stare fully at my canvas. "It represents the loneliness of a solitary life within an individualistic society."

Alden chuckled loudly and rounded on me. "Deep," he grumbled and took at step closer. "I can really feel it with the spirals. I am spiraling into the abyss of depression…"

I rolled my eyes and began to organize my brushes and place them into my case. "Thanks," I murmured and slid my canvas from the easel not bothering with getting fingerprints in my wet paint. I turned dejectedly and began to stomp from the studio, completely ruining my piece. Shit.

"Finley, wait!" Alden spoke loudly behind me, with laughter still in his voice.

I did not wait.

"Seriously, stop." He spoke again and suddenly he was before me, blocking my exit. "You're messing up the edge with your fingers."

"Do you think fingerprints could mess up the abyss?" I asked with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Alden's laugh boomed in the clean open room, echoing from every wall. "The abyss could swallow anyone whole, but I don't want your anger at me messing up this piece. Put it back until it dries."

"What does it matter?"

Alden swooped down and removed the canvas from my hands and put it back on the easel. "It doesn't, but you'll feel better."

Ha. This guy had earned every bit of his reputation.

"Have a seat." He motioned to a large couch that sat across from a chair by a large open window.

I did as I was commanded, saying nothing.

"You're mad at me." He stated, still smiling widely.

I sat, making no affirmatives or negatives, just staring out the window.

I could hear him chuckling as he got up from his chair and rustled around behind me. Finally, after moments of loud rustlings he sat back down and handed me a large piece of paper. On it was a drawing of a dark charcoal. A dark swirl formed the center and swirled out to the edges of the page. There was a depth that only a motivated skill and a trained eye could create using only dark charcoal. It was the twin to my canvas. "What is this?"

He grinned crookedly at me and replied, "It represents the loneliness of a solitary life within an individualistic society, spiraling into the abyss of depression."

**

* * *

Alden**

That was the night I met Finley and I am pleased to say that wasn't the last time she tried to bitch slap me. After I "shared" my junior high rendition of "Loneliness" I felt lacking in my manly area, so I told her good night and allowed her to continue to work in my studio.

I can't describe how much our first meeting had shaken me. Sure, seeing a hot girl is always a nice addition to a day (or night)… but seeing a beautiful, sassy, hot mess is an entirely rare occasion. Add artistic and deep and you've got yourself license for monumental philanderer failure. I decided there was only one way around what I could clearly see would become the heart wrenching end of a teen movie where the bad ass grows a soul and falls for the girl. Oh how tender.

I had no intentions of turning over any leafs neither small nor large. I walked out of the studio with my mind set exactly where I needed to go.

**

* * *

Selene**

There was a soft knock at the door in the melody that told me exactly who stood outside my door. I checked my clock, that fucking idiot! It's past curfew, like that matters to Mr. House-Whore. I rolled my eyes and ran my fingers through my strawberry blonde hair and ruffled it into my eyes. Looking into the mirror, I saw that I had achieved the just-out-of-bed-tousled look. I raised an eyebrow and smiled, I looked hot.

"Selene," Alden's voice sounded frustrated through the door. "Your face is beautiful enough without you staring at yourself while I stand out here… Past curfew by the way."

I threw open the door and jutted out my hip, resting my hand on it. I can be a bitch when I need to be.

"Like that matters," he said softly and grinning like the nasty fool that he is.

I pursed my glossed lips (the gloss I _know_ he loves, raspberry). "Of course it doesn't. But I do love to see your pretty face sweat every now and then."

"You've only see me sweat a few times," His dirty mouth drawled. "And I am almost positive you're eyes were closed the whole time."

I smacked his shoulder and ran my fingers to his elbow and pulled him inside my room. "You dirty boy! Don't bring up my exploits in the hallway!"

I stared at his violet tattoo and wondered what life was like before the differently colored tattoos became public. Alden and I had been friends since we were children, our parents had always been friends and we seemed bonded together by the strangeness of our tattoos, mine crimson, his violet. I of course told him that it was a prophecy that he would turn out gay. He reminded me that that would only be a massive loss for me. Which, as much as I hate to say it, is completely true. Our parents had raised us next to each other from birth. At first I hated him, he was the favorite and totally spoiled. His dad would take him out every morning to shoot his bow and arrow and his mom would let him draw all day. _I _was forced to take every lesson known to man, Latin, Greek, Horseback riding (which Alden came to only when he wanted), history, and so on. Alden was a Redbird and all the vamps sat in rhapsody just waiting for him to show an affinity for everything. Blah, blah, he is an awesome artist. My mom was like the first Red Vamp ever; I'm pretty awesome too. I can grow just about everything, thank you very much. Soon, I realized that Alden and I were both the favorite vamp children, which was when I started seeing him _differently._

Alden curved his lips into a cunning grin and slid down onto my bed like he was returning home. "Like you care if anyone hears. We've been playing this game our entire lives." He curled his elbow under his head and rested his head on his upturned palm. "It's what we do. Shall we get to it?"

It was true, we were Alden and Selene of the House of Night, not necessarily a couple (Ew, I don't do "couple"), but not completely separated. I assume we would always be connected in some way. We would always like the curve of each other's bodies and the taste of the other's blood. We had been hooking up since before we had been marked and we had perpetually hooked up since. He was by far the best lay in the House (and outside of it for that matter, Oklahoma boys don't really have much to offer… except for the occasional blood suck). I could see he had already unfastened the first two buttons so his chiseled chest lay gleaming in the moonlight. A slight gleam of sweat lay across his collarbones, I definitely would be licking that very soon, but for now, I enjoyed the game. _We _enjoyed the game.

First play, "Do you think I am this easy?" I asked, sliding into my vanity chair and began knotting my hair into a bun. I knew Alden liked the hair down and free, this would just annoy him to take down later.

"Yes," he answered bluntly and sighed. "By the way, I hear you've lowed yourself to outside townies." He sat up and walked over to me and whispered over my shoulder, making me shudder, "Can you taste the dirt in their blood?"

I hated when he did that. It was an all out foul play; he knew my ears were a weakness... as was my football playing blood boys. It was bold, but I turned around and spread my legs, allowing my nightgown to creep up my thighs, revealing the lack of underwear beneath. "Never," I paused turning the spike holding up my hair making it tighter, a few tendrils fell into my face like magic. "But I do here you can taste _ugly_. Speaking of, how does that new girl taste… what's her name," I stopped, tapping my finger on my lower lip. "Thinly? No that can't be right, her ass is huge."

Alden's dimples popped out of his cheeks as his grimace deepened. That was one of the many things that added to his complex attractiveness. He was a picture of walking contradiction, he had dark hair and pale skin—the type that you would assume that would be pasty but instead it just highlighted his emerald eyes and stubble that graced his strong, dimpled jaw. He was tall and strong, thin, but not skinny, a gifted artist but not a flaming genius, making him a socially awkward teenager. He was the biggest pussy chaser, but was the kindest son to his mother on the planet. Just when I had decided he was the biggest tool to my bitchy nail, he would surprise me with a thoughtful gift for my horse or a massive donation to the Nature Conservancy. I hated that.

"She is not ugly." He spoke roughly but with a direct firmness. His fingers dug into my shoulder as he continued. "What do you know about her?"

"What do you care?"

"I'm purely curious about any new girls who enter our school. You should know that by now."

"_Purely_ curious? What an oxymoron."

Alden shrugged and began untying my hair.

I rolled my eyes and flipped on my iPod to our sex mix.

"Did I say I wanted to do you?" He asked brusquely, his hands leaving my hair.

"Did I say I wanted to do _you?"_ My anger tinged my voice as I re-knotted my hair.

He smiled his seal-the-deal smile. "It doesn't matter. How do you know her?"

"Your mom introduced me when she was moving in. It seems she's quite the talent."

"Hmmm," he breathed and bit his lip thinking deeply. Hell, I hated when he did that, I wanted to smack his face and fuck him right on this cowhide-covered chair, if the antlers wouldn't puncture a hole in my ass just for trying. Talk about an inconvenient sex chair!

"I'm bored with the new girl talk. If you want to get in her pants, I just warn you, they may be roomy. I hear she's been around."

"Roomy as in she's a slut and many men have been in her pants _or_ as in she has a fat ass?" He led me to the bed and unknotted my hair again, tossing the spike behind him.

My hair fell to my shoulders and I exhaled in delight. Alden knew how to work me. I hated that. "Both," I breathed.

His hands were on me and I only barely heard the words, "We'll see," when I closed my eyes and allowed Alden to lay me down.


	2. Parentage

_**Read it. Review it. Love it.**_

_**Song Suggestions: Sixteen, Maybe Less. by Iron & Wine (quick fact: this song is probably my greatest song muse for the entire plot of this little story. SO CHECK IT OUT!)**_

**

* * *

Finley**

I looked at my watch; it was about dawn, and time to call it quits. I cleaned up my area—_spotlessly_—I might add, and left the studio. I had definitely logged some great studio hours and my piece was coming right along. I had scrapped the loneliness piece and started on a new one entirely. After my run-in with Alden Redbird I had decided to start a picture of contrasts and I have to say, I really liked it. I was painting with black, white, and the darkest purple. As I walked back to my dorm I only got turned around a couple of times. Which I am sure wouldn't be super embarrassing if it wasn't just one long path to the dorm area of campus. I kept getting distracted by the trees and the morning sky, it was the beautiful color of purple I had been using and against the moon I felt super inspired to run back to the studio and paint more. I was about to when the feeling of exhaustion washed over me. Plus, I promised my dad I would call home and check on him.

Walking up the stairs, I passed many students in the common rooms watching DVR'd shows without saying a word. Not that I wasn't friendly, I just didn't feel the need to push myself on all the kids. I was the new kid and in time I would just be a kid, so until then I would give them the option of speaking to me. The door to my room was cracked and light was steeling out from under the door. My roommate was obviously in for the night. She sat at her desk pouring over some book.

"Hey Eden," I greeted warmly. I had only met a few kids at the House of Night and Eden was by far my favorite. She was a beautiful blonde girl, the type that all the girls around would talk badly about just because she was gorgeous. She was tall, at least a few inches taller than me, though I'd never admit it. She had a long, sinewy body and definitely could be featured in the Victoria's Secret catalogs. Besides all of the negatives I just mentioned, she was shy and sweet, the type of girl you wish you could hate but just couldn't. I had only known her a few hours but she had assured me she would walk me to every class just to make sure I'd make it.

She turned and smiled sweetly at me and replied, "Hi, Finley. How was painting?"

"Mostly good."

She smiled and paused, as if wondering to pester me into offering a more explicit answer.

"I used Alden Redbird's studio on accident."

Her face fell. "Oh, Finley! I'm sorry! I should have warned you!"

"Oh stop! You didn't know your idiot roommate would ignore the private studio sign and go to work in the local celebrity's private room!" I smiled and laughed at myself.

She returned the grin and giggled softly. "So, what'd he say to you?"

"I think he was going to yell at me," I paused setting my supplies on my bed.

"He didn't?"

"No, he ran in all angry and then just stared at me for a while, made fun of my painting then showed me one he had done in like grade school I'm sure that was really similar to mine and encouraged me to keep on paintin'!" I drawled the last part sarcastically, plopping onto my bed.

Eden giggled and shook her head. "He must like you, he can be really rude to people who misuse his space."

"Ha! I wasn't misusing it. I just wasn't paying attention!"

Eden's face burned red. "I didn't mean you were misusing—"

"I know," I said throwing a pillow at her. "I was kidding."

She pursed her lips and tried to swallow a laugh.

I turned and slid off my shorts and removed my bra to settle into bed.

A knock at the door rattled our room when I had just pulled up the blankets to cover my pant-less body.

A tall dark boy entered and walked straight to Eden. "Hey Baby," He breathed bending to hug her and kiss her cheek.

"Oh, hi Brand." Eden spoke nervously. "This is my new roommate, Finley."

Brand's back stiffened as he pulled back from Eden. "I'm sorry," he replied turning toward me. "I didn't realize you were back yet. Eden, you were supposed to text me!"

Eden blanched and answered, "I forgot, I'm sorry!"

"Guys, it's really okay, I was going to call my dad any way."

"No, no," Brand smiled at me warmly and offered his big dark hand to Eden, "Our parents are downstairs anyway. They wanted to say hi and good night before they all went to the council meetings in Europe."

"Oh! In Verona? My dad is going to those too! How funny!"

Eden took Brand's hand and stood next to her boyfriend. They were the most contrasting couple I had ever seen. "We'll see you in a little bit. Have a good time talking to your dad."

I watched them walk through the door and I turned to my bedside table and picked up my phone and hit the speed dial.

"Hello Love!" My dad's voice boomed from the receiver.

"Hey dad!"

"How are you liking humid ol' Oklahoma?"

"Well, I've been here for approximately three hours but so far I have managed to keep the douche bag run-ins to a minimum."

"Minimum, that's not zero."

"Agreed, that's why I said 'minimum.'"

"Explain."

I exhaled sharply and launched into the story for the second time.

"Hmmmm, little Redbird sounds disturbingly like his father."

"Oh, you knew him?"

My father laughed but did not answer, which of course means a loud and verifiable yes.

"How is your roommate assignment?"

"Super sweet, her name is Eden LaFont… She has a twin brother named Lochlan, but I haven't met him yet."

My father's end had grown dead.

"Hey, are you there?"

"Yes, Love, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry is the connection bad? Where are you right now?"

"I'm still in London on location."

"Oh, well, then why are you being quiet? Are you stressed?"

"No, I'm fine, Fin."

"They why are you hedging?"

"I just don't like sending you to that school."

"Why? It has the best art teachers; I know I will make the most progress here. And it's where you went."

"Exactly."

* * *

**Alden**

My phone l lay buzzing on the floor but I couldn't reach it because sleep-like-a-rock Selene was on top of my arm. Kindness was not one of my character traits so I whipped it from underneath her, sending Selene rolling violently across the bed, nearly landing on the floor. Damn, a little more spin and I would have had her on the facedown on the carpet!

"Alden, where are you?" My mother's voice blasted from the end of the phone like a foghorn.

"Mother, why are you screaming?"

"Who is it Alden?" Selene's angry voice sounded muffled, as if she were covering her nose with her hands.

I ignored her.

"I am outside of the dorms. Have you forgotten about the meeting? I'm leaving in a few hours for the council meeting." She sounded annoyed. Wonderful.

"Nope, I haven't forgotten, I'll be down in a jiff." She snorted at jiff and hung up the phone.

"Jiff?" Selene was still holding her nose.

"Shut the hell up and get dressed. Our parents are leaving and wanted to say 'goodbye' in the fashion of a formal meeting outside the dorms." I jumped out of bed and bounded into my clothing. Selene lay unmoving. "What the hell, Selene? Get up!"

She rolled her eyes and stretched like a pretentious cat. "Or what?"

I shrugged and walked quickly from her room. I didn't want my mom to know where I'd been. She had expressed some anger for my choice of lifestyle, especially the "whorish use of my best friend," as she had put it. I assume that could explain the annoyance I detected. I decided to exit the back way so I could double back and meet the parents at the front as to not look like I am coming fresh from a sexual rendezvous.

"Mom," I greeted her with a hug. Her black hair hung down her back in think waves. She looked only a few years older than me and was absolutely gorgeous. My dad stood next to her and he gave me a quick pound of the fist in greeting. His other hand stayed planted at the small of her back. I nodded around the rest of the circle and added, "Hello everyone."

Lochlan and Eden LaFont stood next to their parents, Aphrodite and Darius (who if I wasn't completely petrified of Darius, I would totally make a play for). My best friend Aiden Cole stood with his arm around his mom, Shaunee. He was tall and dark with hair cropped short in what he liked to call his "Caesar wave." Next to him stood Brand Bates with his mom Erin. He would be quite the competition for the ladies with his dark skin and bright blue eyes, if it weren't for the fact that he was locked down (stupidly) to Eden LaFont. Finally, Blaise Maslin-Twist and her younger sister Hypatia stood beside their adopted fathers, Damien and Jack. Blaise was a redheaded girl with long straight hair and a golden dusting of freckles across her nose. Hypatia was a tiny brunette with small everything. Her curls were tiny, her eyes were tiny, and everything about her reminded me a cute little mouse.

"Morning," Aiden answered dancing his eyebrows obviously meaning to ask where Selene was.

Like summoned, Selene bounded out of the front of the dorms and ran into a hugging embrace with her mother, Stevie Rae, who clung to my mother's hand. Selene looked similarly to her mother, but was a taller more statuesque version. They murmured hellos to each other while the group stared on.

I looked around at the fantastically attractive group before me. Not one of the females would I kick out of bed (with the exception of my divine mother of course and if I _ever_ catch anyone talking about my mother like that I swear, I'll kill them in a slow, painful and publically humiliating way). Each mother looked only about 20 years old with intricate markings framing their faces perfectly.

"Good morning to all," my mother began formally.

"Blessed be," all mumbled back.

She smiled warmly and bowed to the congregation. "It's such a blessing that all of our children would be blessed by the marks of Nyx. It is an even greater blessing that each are at the school that we were raised."

"I can't believe the school is still standing," Aphrodite mumbled behind my mother.

"If Nyx wishes the school to stand it will." I answered roughly.

"Just like your mother, aren't you, Alden?" She answered.

"I'd like to think so," I replied and placed my arm around my mother's shoulders.

**

* * *

Erik**

Hanging up the phone, I washed my face in my hands. What the hell was I thinking when I agreed to let Finley transfer to the Tulsa House of Night? She was doing perfectly here in London. She was close to me; she had great friends, and was at the top of her class. Her affinities were growing stronger by the hour and Nyx blessed her. But in some Jedi-mind-trick fashion, she had convinced me Tulsa was the place for her.

I had fought hard for two days, and she had refused all of my calls and gifts as bribes. She had made up her mind, convinced Nyx was sending her to Tulsa. Damn Tulsa! I had called her mother to try to get some semblance of support but she couldn't be bothered as she was fully immersed in her character. I'm incredibly glad she was the last method acting human I had gotten drunk and slept with. Those months of her pregnancy had been nothing but one huge dramatic buffet of insanity.

When she gave Finley up to me I was more than happy to take full custody and giver her _my_ name. Being a vamp it's strange to bestow a patriarchal name, but her mother was human and that was their way. Besides, she is completely unbalanced, and I was happy to be free of her.

Finley Night was the first girl I have loved since Zoey Redbird, and I am sure she would be the last. My little girl makes my life worth the ride. Before Fin, it was like I was on a rollercoaster made of outdated wood and tracks. It jostled me around over and over, painfully, and I couldn't exit. I couldn't get out of the tedium and affliction. As soon as she smiled and looked up at me in the hospital—I swear, she smiled when she was born—I knew that this ride was no longer going to be full of smacks and pinches but dips and highs, laughs and screams. Sure, life isn't always the climb to the top but also the gut-dropping fall to the bottom. She smoothed out my life, making it livable and worthwhile.

She grew quickly and I lived everyday fearing she wouldn't be marked. What if I had to watch my baby grow old and die while I continued my life of youth? Finally, in the middle of a tutoring session she was marked, a beautiful crescent moon just above her eyebrows. She screamed and I cried, literally sobbed like a pussy. I knew she wouldn't leave me. I have never been happier than that day. My daughter was staying and I had someone to hold my hand. _Forever_.

**

* * *

Zoey**

"Alden, please stop being such an idiot," I commented quickly and turned to Aphrodite before she could sneer like a child. "Same goes for your Aphrodite, as I remember you are a few years his senior and should be acting as such."

Both raised their eyebrows but said nothing.

"Thank you," I paused and returned my attention the congregation. "Like I was saying, we are about to be leaving to join the council meetings in Verona. There we will encounter many old _friends_ and making some important decisions. While we are gone we expect each of you to be on your very, very best behavior." I stopped and let my eyes rest on each of the fledglings surrounding me. They all shifted quickly but nodded. My eyes lingered on Alden's and he smiled widely and nodded for me to continue. "I am leaving Professor Lenobia in charge. You _will_ treat her with the same respect you treat your parents and me. She has graciously offered to stay and deserves your aid. Each of you have created a reputation for being elite…"

"Assholes," Alden added.

"I wish I could disagree," I replied. "But I can't. Now, I realize not all of you are worthy of this title," my eyes lingered on Branch and Eden who were so unlike their parents and smiled. "But, even so, the reputation exists. I absolutely hate that this is what you are known for. Each of you has extraordinary gifts given to you by the Goddess. Use them well! While we are away, please, make us exceedingly proud."

Stark smiled at Alden. With each of my boys standing next to each other I could see the likeness of their personalities coloring their stances. They stood the same, carried their shoulders the same, even the curve of their backs was identical. Alden's face looked so much like mine, but his smile was purely Stark. I loved them so much. Each had a roughness that if polished shined so brightly with pure, unadulterated goodness. I could always see the good in each of them, but I knew that the rough often blinded others. They saw the sandy sarcasm and crooked wit and assumed that only bold rudeness. I was saddened by Alden's turn in boyhood that led him to treat women as play things. He was so much greater and stronger and yet he chose to be this silly little user.

"Alden, will you speak with me over here?" I asked softly.

He met my eyes and smiled warmly, following me to the east wall tree.

"Alden, do you know anything about this tree?"

He screwed up his face in concentration and at that moment he looked like the little boy that I had raised, trying to be so pleasing with every thought and action. "It's a source of power… right?"

"Yes, once, when I was in school I ordered to fall down and crush this wall—"

"During Kalona's rule?"

"Please don't refer to it as a rule… more like an invasion. But, yes. After he had been disposed of, the Circle and I came around it and breathed new life into it asking it to rise and take its rightful place."

"Oh, that's sweet Mom. I'm glad you took care of it, put it back where it belonged." He placed his hand on the tree lovingly.

"Yes, thank you." I put my hand on top of his, weaving my fingers through them affectionately. "While I'm gone, I'd like the same for you."

His squeeze on my hand stopped and he stared at me like the confused toddler again.

"You need to be placed back where you belong."

**

* * *

Finley **

I tossed and turned, a _lot._

Ugh! I can't sleep. Not even a little bit. I tried counting sheep, which was stupid and only got on my nerves. I tried clearing my mind but my painting of contrasts just kept slapping me in the face. I turned on a fan, thinking the noise or the cool would calm me, but nothing, not one thing would help.

I threw my feet over the edge of the bed and found some flip-flops. Maybe a little walk would help. I knew I was just nervous to start my first day, which is stupid. I'm never nervous. It's one of my weird things. I have this impenetrable nerve. I figured it came from a life with a dad for a famous actor. My super power was the ability to never get nervous. Everyone always stared at me and assumed weird things. For instance, once, when I was little, I spit my gum out of the window of the car when it didn't have any taste left. You know, what everyone does, it's completely normal. The tabloids saw and the front page screamed, "Erik Night teaches his daughter to be bulimic!" Seriously—no lie—that was the title.

So, since then, nothing could touch me. There's always crap people are going to think and say and I can't do a thing about it. After moving into a House of Night, the paparazzi have definitely had a harder time getting their shots, which is nice, but of course there are times I visit my dad… So the public gets their fix. Whatever.

Anyway, I'm not usually nervous. So this lack of sleep thing is more than a little frustrating, it's downright painful. I pulled on a pair of shorts and a large sweatshirt. I found whatever shoes were lying on top of my pile and was out the door.

The cool dew clung to the air and iced every surface of green in the courtyard. It was a beautiful morning, the sky wasn't quite blue and the moon hadn't quite retreated in the obnoxious rays of the sun. I exhaled and felt my stress melting, finally.

I decided it would be best if I just close my eyes and practice my breathing. At least, that's what people do on movies to "center themselves" right? So I did so. Before I knew it, I was feeling ready to head back into my bed. That is, before I walked into a tree.

"What the—" A voice sounded above me.

I walked into a tree and now, from what I could tell, I was laying on the ground. The ground was wet and I was lying on the wet ground, getting wet. I am still lying on the ground. My but is wet. I decided to open my eyes, though more importantly I was lying on the wet ground. "Whoa, the ground is wet!"

Above me stood Zoey Redbird and of course, Alden Marc Redbird, resident badass painter _and_ douche bag insider to all the Finley Night screw-ups. Go ahead and mark down eff-up number two. You could almost mark this one as two and three, not only did I run into a tree but I fell onto the _wet_, very wet, ground.

"Yes, dew does that to things in the mornings," Zoey replied reaching her hand down to offer some help up. "Did you hit your head very hard?"

My fingers traced up to the pain that was pulsing near my temple and sure enough it was very tender and a bump was forming. "Scale of one to ten? Ten being amnesia worthy and one being totally competent, I'm going to say 6.32."

Booming laughter echoed and I saw Alden wiping tears from his eyes. "Obviously competent wasn't even on the table before you hit the tree."

I heard a loud smack and saw him escaping his mom's second backhand. "Can you stand up, Finley?" She asked gently.

"Oh," I sat up on my elbows and pushed myself into a sitting position. "Yeah, I'm sure." She reached both hands to help me up and pulled me slowly to my feet.

"Can you tell me the date?"

"Yeah, and I can tell you that tomorrow I'm going to wish I had a concussion so that I forget when your son tells the entire school of this incident."

Alden's guffaws did not stop so I took that as a guarantee and rolled my eyes. Which hurt, badly.

I heard a louder smack and he stopped (laughing _as_ loudly). "He won't be mentioning this."

I snorted.

Zoey raised her eyebrows and dared me to question her. I didn't. "Apologize, Alden."

He looked at me and snorted, obviously trying to swallow the rest of the laughter but was failing miserably.

"Really. It's fine. I would laugh too. I would be laughing if it wouldn't hurt my face, I'm sure." I turned to walk back but I felt woozy and started to stumble, again.

"Okay, if my son can't grow a pair of man's balls to stop laughing like a little girl, he can walk you back to your dorm." She whispered something sharply to Alden and quickly hands were around both of my elbows, hauling me to a solid standing position.

"Alright, I really don't need all this trouble, I just stood up to fast—"

"Finley, I promised your father I would take care of you," She paused and took my hand firmly. "And I intend to make sure that promise is kept, solidly."


	3. Night Games

_**You know the drill.**_

_**Song Suggestion: Evening on the Ground (Lilith's Song) by (duh) Iron and Wine**_

**

* * *

Alden**

So as per my mother's explicit instructions I turned away from my friends and led the new girl to the dorms, against every selfish bone in my body. (Including a very insistent one that was directing me back to Mrs. Cole.) All I wanted to do was run back and tell Aiden about the ridiculous display that the Night girl had just put on. I mean, come on! She just Fergie'd that tree! Though, I would have to admit she was far cuter than Fergie could ever be lying on the ground. There was something interesting and a little more than just intriguing about this girl. My mom had definite concern for her. If I was being completely honest, I would be offended for how much she seemed to want to take care of the new girl. Far more than just sympathizing than she had been for the standard new House of Night fledgling.

Zoey Redbird was an interesting anomaly, what with her whims sent from the goddess and her affinities for every element known to man. My mom was something completely unfamiliar to vamps, so who knows what she means by the special treatment of this girl. All I knew is that Finley was first, obviously clumsy, second, attractive (in the make you sit and stare, trying to figure out what exactly it is that keeps you staring, kind of way), third, she is so completely different from all of the other girls I had ever met, and finally, she could be passed out on my arm…

"Finley!" I yelled, shaking her roughly.

Her eyes flew open wide and her lips formed an instant snarl. "What the hell, man?"

"Oh," I ceased shaking her but held a grip more firmly on her arms. "I thought you passed out."

"Um, no, it was an abnormally long blink."

"Well, blinking leads to sleep and sleep leads to death when one is concussed."

"I don't have a concussion."

"You don't know that." I paused. "Look, I'm not sure either way, so I'd like to be safe." I smiled at her fervent stubbornness. I love that in a girl. They are the type to slap you and not be made when you roughly make love to them… Pause for a second Alden. Your mind didn't refer to sex as sex or boning or doing or humping… lovemaking. What the hell is wrong with you? Stop. Stop messing with this girl.

I continued to walk swiftly but loosened my grip on her forearm. That's better; you can't smell her as much now (a sweet, clean smell—not perfumy). Or feel the fluttering of her heartbeat.

"Thanks, I was beginning to wonder if you were trying to pool my blood in my shoulder to suck it out later." Her voice was gruff, but strong.

I snuck a peek at her face it was too pale. "I'll only suck on you if you ask very sweetly."

Her eyebrows furrowed and she spat, "Okay, gross! I think I can take it from here, Cunt Yuckcula."

"That wasn't even clever."

"What do you expect? I'm concussed."

* * *

**Finley**

Sitting in my room, the last five minutes became fully and completely real. I am an idiot. A _real_ big idiot. I walked into a tree that was obviously being used for an important chat between High Priestess and son. Not only did I walk into an occupied tree but I also fell to the ground… and mumbled idiocies about the ground being wet. My butt has a huge wet grass stain on it. Also, the son (aforementioned raven haired choad) walked me back to my room because his mom told him too. Now, the nervousness that I was talking about not existing is completely tangible. My life blows, hard.

So here I am, sitting on my bed while the token jerk-face guy stares at me, waiting for me to do something else ridiculous, no doubt. I wonder where he is keeping his notepad. I mean, be real, I am doing such a copious amount of moronic acts, he'll need to take notes. This is awkward and if it would make it any more awkward I would state that fact… just to feel what one more ounce of awkwardness would feel like. But alas, I am convinced I am standing on the apex of the uncomfortable.

"Feel free to go." I shifted and smiled what I could only assume would be a great big grimace.

"I'm quite comfortable." His answer was coated in sugary sweetness and his smile seemed to melt. Yuck.

Who is this guy? An ass, I answered for myself. I decided that arguing would be worthless, so I kicked off my shoes and started to get comfortable to sleep. "Turn around, please."

"Excuse me? If you want to check out my ass, just ask." He lifted his eyebrow and I could literally see his ego expanding.

"You don't have to turn around for that."

He snorted a laugh.

"I want to take these wet pants off so I don't continue to get my bed wet."

He snorted again.

"Okay, gross. Stop making that dirty." I made a motion with my finger to turn around but he didn't move. "Oh good grief. You are an idiot!" I got up from my bed and walked over to him, physically turning him around. "There, will you _please_ stay turned around until I'm done?"

He turned completely saying nothing, but folded his arms across his chest. I backed up quickly, never taking my eyes off his back. I don't trust this whore for a second! I stripped my pants but didn't waste the time finding shorts and sliding new ones on. I just jumped into bed as quick as possible. He turned at the sound of my springs.

"Quick, aren't we?"

I rolled my eyes, painfully. "You can go now."

"Why would I stay for the stripping if I wasn't going to enjoy the show?"

"You're a tool."

"Get some new insults."

"Find a new vagina to pester."

"I'm sure what I do could never be deserving of the term 'pester.'"

That was it I was convinced. Alden was as literal to the stereotype of a douche bag that you could get. He couldn't be any closer to the actual definition unless he suddenly transformed into the feminine hygiene product for use. _Use. _All people were products of who they actually are and what actually happens to them. It's that whole nature versus nurture thing. I wonder how much of who he is is because of him and how much is due to his life.

From what I could tell he had great parents. I mean the high priestess Zoey Redbird is his mom for crying out loud! And his dad is like super-warrior-defender of the council and all that. Yeah, I hear he is cocky as hell but my dad hasn't told me the whole story yet. So sure, some of that is from his nature. But all of it? How can someone be this bad with a family like that?

* * *

**Alden**

"Who was she?" She mumbled against her pillow.

"Excuse me?"

"Who was the girl that messed you up?" She was sitting up now, all of her hair wilding out around her face like a black wreath. The contrast was breathtaking. I know it's rude to tell girls that they look beautiful in the dark, but this was different. It was like the lack of light had exonerated some tenderness in her features and set them free. What was she asking me? I can't focus.

I managed an inexplicable monosyllabic, "Hmmm?" I am a regular Lord Byron.

One edge of her lips played up and she stifled a giggle. "Okay, good night."

How annoying. She was just giving up like that. She folded into her pillow and closed her emerald eyes. "There never was just one girl in my life. You should know that by now."

She didn't open one eye but breathed out a slow reply. "Okay, we'll talk about this some other time. I am way to tired to fight through the wall of panties built up around your inner soul."

"Wall of panties? That would be nice."

She didn't reply.

"Finley, you can't go to sleep!" I pushed off the chair sitting opposite to her and sat at the front of her bed.

"If you shake me again, I swear I will throttle you so hard that your balls will be nothing but empty sacks."

I couldn't help laughing. "Okay, okay. But seriously, I don't want you to die. I promised my mom."

"Such a sweet sentiment." She paused and opened one eye. "You can sit there and every now and then check and see if I am breathing. If I am not, call your mom."

Sounded like a decent plan. I shrugged and she quickly shut her eye.

The night (day) went just like that. She slept and I would stare at her, sometimes thinking things that I knew I shouldn't. Like: I wonder what book she first cried in? Is she a crier in general? I bet not. I bet she hides it. I wonder what she does when she just needs a release. Does she like Manchester Orchestra? Or does she just think it's an actual orchestra? What is her mom like? How was she when she first kissed a boy? (At that one I actually questioned my manliness—it was still there.) Every now and then, just like she said, I would freak out and make sure she was breathing. Once I grazed her lip with my finger, and her mouth puckered and opened slightly.

That was literally the most beautiful tiny action I have ever seen in my life. And I have seen a_ lot_ of beautiful things in my life—I am an artist, a spoiled one that everyone tries to parade beautiful things in front of. The entire world tries to wow me with the "most gorgeous" sites, people, colors, flowers and so on. Yeah, they are all pretty, even serene sometimes. But nothing, not even Penelope Cruz in lingerie, lying in a field of wildflowers, could compare to that.

I am having an issue.

Then she started snoring. Loudly, like a tractor. A tractor with some serious nasal issues. Thank goodness. I needed something to laugh at, to get my mind off of her lips. The top one was a soft, slender curve while the bottom was pouty… Stop.

While I was dozing between tractor sounds the door to the room opened in a burst. Lochlan and Eden bounded inside. Correction, Lochlan bounded, Eden tiptoed. She was always the sweet one. She eyed me quickly and whispered to her brother something I couldn't hear.

He looked at me and smiled loudly. (At this point you are thinking, "How can someone smile loudly?" Well, friend, it's your lucky day, you're about to see how. This guy is the epitome of loud, penetrating, and very annoying charisma. He could smile like a thousand snare drums. It overtook his entire face and conveyed whatever emotion he wished to display.) This loud smile sketched a face of competition and intrepid nerve. It was a challenge, a gauntlet right at the base of the bed. He wanted Finley and he wanted me to go down fighting... for her.

* * *

**Lochlan**

Well, look at this! Eden was cleverly hiding her new roommate from me, for completely righteous and wise reasons. Too bad she couldn't hide her from Redbird. Now that he had found her first it just insured a fight. Fight was an incorrect word… competition, race, and rivalry all fit better.

This is absolutely perfect. If I could write the way I wanted this to play out, I wouldn't have written a more perfect introduction. Redbird met her first, of course making a regular ass of himself, and I can be there and play the backwards run in a way she would never guess. I could see it in his face. He liked this one because she wasn't biting. His game is low but cocky and she is far too smart for that. He's intrigued. This is going to be my golden trophy.

While Alden was the aloof artist, playing his affinity up for the panties, I play an entirely different game. I'm loud and I know it. But you can't ignore me and I also know that. I'm the type of guy to make girls smile in spite of themselves. I can see that they don't want to like what I say... but they do. And as soon as I see that sheepish grin, I'm in.

The group has always been Alden, Aiden, and Selene, then Brand and Eden (they've been together since before they even knew what girlfriend-boyfriend meant), and whatever girl I have chosen for the week. Alden and Aiden have some sort of wingman connection while I fly solo. It's better that way, but sometimes I use some guy from one of my teams, if they aren't too big of a cock block I keep them around. No one has lasted that long, but Blaise Maslin-Twist, BMT (she totally hates that name... so naturally I use it all the time) has become quite the little useful tool. BMT has the inside on absolutely everything and Hypatia, her sister, is just frickin' cute, always dropping stuff and bending over in front of me... Now that our group has expanded to fit the twins, I seem to have the run of the school. Hypatia's really good at picking up the girl pieces in the wake of Alden and I and B's always get the next inside scoop on who's new or recently dumped and so on. I have to say that it rounds out a pretty nice group, easy for me to direct. Of course, Alden and Aiden form quite a headstrong section, but they are pretty easy to maneuver. As long as they're getting pussy, they are happy and I can move onto whatever plan I have.

Selene tends to be good for a quick shut-up if Alden has some new thing messing with his head. Alden has some need for her that keeps him coming back (I can't totally blame him, she's a freak). It's not like they are connected like Eden and Brand, but they have this thing that when they are both stressed or upset they fuck. I don't get it; the same perpetual vagina is boring to me. I like to erase a girl after a month to make room for more; you know clearing out memory space. I don't think they are in love because Selene has been opening up for me for the past month. Which I allow because I'm sure nothing would irritate Redbird more than that. He doesn't like to plow in my pastures… and vice versa at that.

Redbird and I have been in competition from diapers. He's always been the pampered one while I've had to earn everything I got. My dad's a hardass and he works the hell out of me, while Eden just skates by on her kindness. My mom is a little easier to deal with, but that's only because I could be considered her clone. We look the same, we act the same... or at least from stories I've heard. Apparently, she's 'mellowed out' a little. I don't know why. I hear she ran the school and then one day she just stopped. I'm sure Zoey Redbird out played my mom. Not like that history is going to be repeated...

Don't get me wrong; I love my family, even my sister and Hitler of a dad. He wants me to be better and I am, because of his pushing. I am the best athlete in this school and I have him to thank for waking me up before twilight every evening to begin training.

"You are a warrior son, act like one!" He would bellow as he ran like a blur in front of me. Early on, he could run lightening circles around me. Now that I have been marked I can almost outrun him. Almost.

So, from this I have my opener for all girls. All women, girls, and fledglings can't help but awe at my physical talents. So from here I create my game plan to get Finley Night and outplay Alden Redbird.

* * *

**Finley**

"Finley!"

Ugh, someone is screaming and it is _early_. My forehead is exploding. I let my fingers trace up to my temples.

"Fin, please, get up."

Who is calling me Fin?

Now, they are shaking me and I may resort to morning violence. "Fin, you have a class starting in like thirty minutes."

"Crap." I'm awake now and I realize Eden is still shaking my brain. "I'm up."

She stopped shaking me and smiled, "I'm sorry, I've been trying to get you up for like 15 minutes!"

"I know. I am a hard sleeper." I sat up and brushed my curls out of my face. "Eff! My head hurts like crap."

"I would offer some medicine if I thought it would help."

"I know. This vamp stuff sucks sometimes."

With that, I slid out of bed, focusing on not jostling my brain more than necessary. I decided today was going to be a low maintenance day and grabbed the first outfit that I could pass off as "matching". I walked to the sink and washed my face and brushed my teeth. My hair. Wow. I look like a poodle, and not in an "aww, look how cute and curly she is!" kind of way. I looked for a scarf to tie around my head and do that whole boho chic thing. Sienna Miller is totally hot, right? I slapped on some mascara and eyeliner and was finally ready to go.

As I turned and grabbed my bag, I saw Eden's eyes scan up and down my body. Great, she was going to be embarrassed seeing me in my street person clothes. "I know," I moaned. "I look homeless, but I had a rough night. I promise to look more up to _House of Night_ standards tomorrow."

Her brow furrowed. "Fin, you look great! I wish I could pull of something like that!" She pointed at my ratty cut offs and old black Morrissey t-shirt.

I compared her silk white mini dress and heels to my silhouette, complete with flip flops, and rolled my eyes. "You prefer top-of-the-pile chic?"

She laughed and motioned to the door. "Let's go. We'll exchange style tips some other time."

"Great, I just need a nice pot of coffee and I'll be right as rain…" I trailed off wondering what that expression actually meant.

"Pot?"

"Yes. Pot. I'm a big girl. I need my caffeine by the barrel."

Eden laughed all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen. There I found my lover, black strong coffee, just waiting for me. I melted into a seat and reached over for the pot and pulled out my favorite coffee mug. I dropped in three packets of sweet in low and stood up, sipping slowly. "Let's go to class!"

"Do you not want a travel cup?" Eden held out one of those pretentious Starbucks cup nock-offs to me.

"Of course not." And with that I was out the door.

Eden ran after me, quite well for a girl in three-inch stilettos. "Won't you spill it everywhere?"

"Probably."

She had caught up to me; it didn't take long since her strides were much longer than mine, freaking Amazon. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"_I'm_ not wearing white silk," I motioned to her dress and spilled at little coffee over the edge. "Sorry." I licked it from my hand. "I spill, you spill, and we all spill. I hate those stupid cups, do you know how long they rest in landfills?"

"No."

"Neither to I. But I know it's a while. And besides, this mug has every insult known to man written in the most brilliant language ever on it."

"What language?"

"Iambic Pentameter."

"What?"

"Shakespearean, my dad gave it to me. If I need to give someone a good insult and leave them a little confused, I'm all set, you..." I paused turning my mug in my hand, scanning the different words. "Ah! You craven tardy-gaited joithead!"

"What the heck?"

"I have no idea." I linked my arm through Eden's and we walked quickly to class.

* * *

_**By the by, this is one of my favorite chapters. I think Filden is super cute in it. Just my humble opinion.**_


	4. Human Hints at a Song

_**Read and Review**_

_**Song Suggestion: If You Don't Love Me, by Sherree Chamberlain**_

**

* * *

Brand**

They really are running late.

Eden is never late, so this is completely out of the ordinary. I hate when she makes me compromise my standards to take care of her latest projects. Not to mention, it was obvious that Alden _and_ Lochlan were going to have some sort of tug-of-war over this one. I have no intention of finding myself in the middle of that power struggle. Those two are like two opposing (child) gang-masters but with the added power of violent generals at war.

I leaned back against the black granite lined walls outside of Professor Perrault's literature class. I checked my watch again and sighed in frustration. I stared down the long ebony walls to the end of the hallway and watched for Eden's silhouette to appear in the golden torch lit entrance. The hallway was completely empty so the walls glistened in a nightly mist of the golden light and I continued hoping to see her willowy curves slink through the door. We were both two golden creatures, her with her bronze body and gilded hair, me with my caramel skin and amber curls. We matched, like two aureate cherubs that decorated an old chateau.

Running my fingers through my thick curls, I turned to the tapping of my shoulder.

"Where's Eden?" Blaise asked. Her red hair was swept up into a messy ponytail and she stood seductively leaning against the wall beside me. Her skin was dusted with a spattering of freckles that she aimlessly sought to cover with make-up. There's another reason why Eden is a skyscraper above every other female in this school—she doesn't try. She has no need.

"Who knows?" I straightened my polo and shoved my sleeves up to my elbows, shifting away from her a few feet.

Blaise smirked and bit her lip. "Obviously, the new girl is holding her up." She looked around the corner and bent over conspicuously, giving me a quick (and unnecessary) peek under her black tunic at her red-laced underwear (if a string connected to see-through red lace classifies as underwear). She looked back and me and pulled the dress down, pursing her lips and added, "Oh, I'm sorry!"

I lifted my eyebrows in disgust and shook my head.

She reached her hand over to my arm and ran her fingers from my shoulder to my elbow. "I'll save you a seat." With that, she turned and walked into the classroom. Plainly, she was on an assignment from Lochlan to stakeout the new girl. And even more plainly, I'm going to need to pay more attention to Blaise then I would like, I'd hate to see Eden upset over some plan her brother administers upon her new roommate.

I wish Lochlan used another girl other than Blaise for his reconnaissance missions. That girl has been trying to get into my pants all year and there is absolutely _no_ one I find more aggressive and annoying. I don't know how Eden hasn't picked up on all of her-

"Hi, Blue." Eden stood before me smiling like a goddess. In tow was her new roommate, Finley? She was wearing some Ramones-inspired 90s grunge outfit. Wow, I have never seen that look outside of Seattle or Portland, much less in Tulsa, Oklahoma at the renowned House of Night, where we are known for our Ralph Lauren, Gucci, and at wildest Betsy Johnson (and that's only on very rare and very unauthorized occasions). She was going to make quite the shake-up, I am sure of it.

**

* * *

Blaise**

Staring at Brand is one of my favorite things. Those blue eyes, those golden-tipped curls, his dark skin and the muscles underneath, are all things that I can't get my mind to stop replaying…With me in addition… My fingers upon his bare chest… his fingers—damn, he is hot.

I could have any guy I wanted from this school, except him. Our little group is at the apex of the social ladder and I've gotten with every guy in the circle except for_ him._ Granted, Alden, Aiden, and Lochlan were all mindless hook-ups for comparison and political purposes. The rest of the guys (and girls for that matter) at this school follow me around just looking for an in. Why can't I use my clout to get _in_to Brand? Oh right, fucking _Eden._

I can't do anything with Eden around. That girl has about as much personality as a Ford Focus. Yeah, she's beautiful—I'm too big of a dick to notice that—but how does she hold his interest? Of course, guys don't care about anything except boobs and butt, and if she keeps putting out he'll always be around. Lochlan would kill me if I hurt his little sister, what with her constant mind numbing sweetness. Ugh, she gives me a stomachache!

Ah, Eden makes her grand entrance. That girl is so good she's never been late, so I bet Brand was practically wetting himself waiting for her. Awesome, they are making out in the doorway. I turn around and roll my eyes at Lochlan. His blond hair sprays out around his face and he grins at me. "BMT, you're going to have to either let that one go or get rid of my sister… which I wouldn't feel cheery about."

I punch him on his overly muscled arm. "You're being a bitch, are you manstrating?"

He laughed and then answered, "I may be a bitch, but I get the girls_ I_ go after." He readjusted his v-neck shirt and ripped jeans as Brand and the new girl entered the classroom. Eden scampered off to her private acting lesson. Yuck.

I turned my attention back to my blond friend and his unusual wardrobe for the evening. What the hell was Lochlan wearing? He's usually all things Polo—you know, khakis, sweaters, and mono colors. He was even wearing Chucks! And some sort of _necklace._ Is that a _rosary?_ "What are you wearing, Loch?"

He ignored me. "Hey, Man!" He knocked knuckles with Brand as he took his seat. Yes, most definitely a _rosary!_

Brand sat in front of me—also ignoring me, the new girl sat in front of Lochlan. She didn't turn around to greet either of us—stuck up bitch; does she not know we are _the_ group to be in?

"Hey," Brand gave his signature one-syllable greeting.

Chloe, the girl who was my most recent 'helper', tapped my elbow. She is a pretty (but not too pretty) blonde girl with long curly hair. Today, she was wearing a cute vest/skirt ensemble, completely up to my requirements. "Blaise, is that Eden's new roommate?"

"Yeah."

"What's your plan for her?" Her eyes sparkled with the prospect of a new project. I had to love her tenacity. She may be around for more than a week.

"I'm not sure yet, but I'll totally let you know." I turned and lifted my voice over Brand's (beautiful) shoulder. "Hi, I'm Blaise."

The new girl didn't turn around; she sat completely engaged in her coffee and book. I stretched over the desk and tried to look to see what book she was reading. Lochlan saw my attempts and offered some aid.

"What are we reading today?" He also leaned forward so his face was parallel to the new girl's. He was giving her the full affect of his dimples and golden skin, totally putting it all on today!

She turned and then jumped by the proximity of Loch's face. I smiled; she was going to be quite the fun game! I would have to let Selene know about this one… She always enjoys the ground floor of a melodrama.

The girl's face blushed in chagrin and she bit her lip, hiding the book under her desk. "What do you think?"

Loch's eyes narrowed and he grinned sheepishly (gag). "I'm going to go with…" He turned his eyes up to the ceiling and tapped his finger on his chin. "Zombies."

The girl laughed and held the book up to Loch so he could see. "_Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_. You, sir, are a book psychic."

I could feel Brand's eyes rolling.

"I'm Lochlan, Eden's brother." He leaned further across the desk and offered his hand.

**

* * *

Lochlan**

I sat staring at Finley. She was gorgeous, the type of math I _like_ to do. This game will be anything but tedious. She ran her fingers through her dark curls, lifting them up and off her shoulder thoughtlessly while Professor Perrault droned on about some sort of classic literature archetype.

I scribbled a note to Brand and passed it to him quickly.

His face tried to subdue a smile and he scrawled an answer and passed it back quickly.

Under my script that read, "She's enough to make me quit cold jerky." He wrote a quick, "I bet you my entire Thanksgiving dinner you couldn't quit." I smiled with abandon and nodded, whispering, "I'll take that bet."

Finley turned and eyed us with an annoyed expression. I only smiled and raised my hand; cockiness has never done me wrong.

"Yes, Mr. LaFont?" Professor Perrault paused her lecture and smiled at me kindly.

"How many weeks until Thanksgiving?"

She raised her eyebrows and folded her hands together before her. "I will answer that question if you can answer one of mine."

I leaned back in my chair, using my knee for balance. "Proceed."

Finley had turned completely around in her chair, expression exasperated.

"Why do you feel Vampyre writers often depict human-vampyre relationships in their writings when it is so looked-down-upon?"

"We all want what we can't have." I let my chair's legs scrape the floor as it hit the ground.

Professor Perrault nodded.

Sasha, a girl sitting across the room, continued, "Humans are the main patrons and so to make money they need to be included."

Perrault nodded in agreement again. "Do you feel that this is beneath the brilliant art of literature? Adding characters or stories for pure profit?"

"No to writer would add characters or story-lines for pure profit. If their gifts are truly from the goddess they should be above such additions for monetary gain." Finley spoke with such authority the entire class' eyes rested upon her.

"Continue Ms. Night," Professor Perrault smiled and sat on the edge of her desk, obviously entranced like the rest of the class.

"I think it's silly we think that human-vampyre relationships are out of the ordinary or beneath us. If we were honest, we would remember we were all human once and the majority of beings upon this planet are humans. Why should the relationships be forbidden? Are we that afraid of them?" Finley spoke the last bit in one breath as if she were afraid she wouldn't have breath if she didn't get out the last phrase.

Stephan Duschwitz interjected, "What could be possibly be afraid of? They are weak beings who die!"

"Excuse me, but are you completely without fear of the Change?" Finley's face was growing rosier as she continued the discussion.

"You know he meant Vampyres!" Sasha shouted.

"Doesn't matter," Finley shrugged.

"It does! But even as fledglings we aren't afraid of them! How dare you!" Sasha screamed.

"Oh calm down, Sasha! You often let your PMS ride high during these conversations. Pop a midol and stop pissing your chair." I exclaimed and nudged Finley. "Go ahead, keep explaining."

She chagrined more and smiled. "We treat humans differently because they feel differently from us…" She paused and fingered her books edge before continuing. "They die, so every emotion, elation, pain, fear, joy, sadness—they feel it more sharply. When they get angry they are more likely to act. They are wildcards while we sit here in our wealth and decadence, living in contentment. We don't know what to expect from them… And that makes great literature."

"Oh what do you know?" Sasha spat. "You're mother is a whore-crazy _human _actress."

Finley's face snapped up and eyed Sasha's malignant features. She sat in silence, staring daggers across the room.

"Good, Finley. Very good! You have a poet's soul!" Professor Perrault's whimsical voice interrupted the malicious tension that coated the classroom. "Class dismissed."

Everyone stood and exited the classroom, whispering about the outburst of Sasha and the audacity of Finley. She gathered her things quietly and sought the exit without a word. I tried to catch up to her but Professor Perrault had taken her attention before I could lay my first game changing assault.

**

* * *

Erik**

I fidgeted in my seat, gripping the armrest, tapping my shoe against the floor, and arranging and rearranging my scripts on my lap. I exhaled—no sighed—again, loudly.

"Mr. Night, can I get you_ anything_?" I opened my eyes and tilted my face upward. The pleasant, though poorly dyed, blond flight attendant stood beside my chair, smiling warmly. She had already checked on me several times and it was starting to get a little tedious. I wish I had agreed to allow my agent to arrange the private jet fly me out of London. But no, I wanted something quick and let's be honest, I love Heathrow. It's by the far the classiest airport… and they offer free alcoholic samples at every corner. Although it's impossible for me to feel any sort of buzz, I haven't lost my taste for all things fermented.

"I'm quite well, thank you." I put on my most convincing smile and ushered her to the other passengers. She smiles at me like I am Christmas himself and assures me she'll be back around soon. Fame has it perks and its deep, pestering annoyances.

**Ding.**

The 'fasten seatbelt' light clicks off. Thank goodness. I can now call and check on Fin. I've been holding off for the past few hours, trying to be the good non-hovering father, but it's become quite obvious that is _not_ who I am. I've completely come to terms with it, she will also. It should be just about time for dinner, so it will be easy to see if her day is going well or not. If she doesn't answer then I'm sure she's having too good of a time (with _all _of my old friends' children) to answer. Or if she answers too quickly, I'll know that she is off somewhere deciding how to react to something. I try not to focus too directly on the fact that her comrades will be the offspring of my old crew. I reach across and grasp the airplane phone. I slide in my credit card and dial.

The phone rings twice and then I hear her pick up. My insides melt at her quick answer.

"Hello?" She answers.

"Hi, Love."

"Oh, hi Dad." I can hear her pulling out the-I'm-just-fine-mask in her voice.

"How is your first night of classes going?"

"Fine." She answers too quickly.

I decide not to push. "Okay, what classes have you had so far?"

"Literature, Professor Perrault is great. She wants me to submit some writings to her."

"Great!"

"And Sociology, which was pretty interesting. I'm sure it's better when Zoey Redbird teaches it but she's gone right now."

Of course she's gone, she's on her way to the Council meeting and we will see each other again for the first time in a decade. I'm completely ready for it… _Man up, Night!_ "I'm sure. Have you met Zo- Professor Redbird, yet?"

"Call her Zoey, Dad. I know you guys were friends, jeez."

"Okay." _Sure, Zoey. She was literally the love of my life and she screwed me up beyond belief… So, of course, we're on a first name basis. Zoey._

"I met her last night."

_Oh sweet baby goddess! _"And?"

"And, I met her son yesterday, also." _I'm sure he's a real peach, just like his asshat of a father. _I could hear her withholding something. So I pause and let her continue, shoving all of my expletives about the male counterparts in the Redbird family aside.

She exhales and speaks so quickly, in the way that I know she's saying everything to make sure she gets everything out before she changes her mind. "_And_ I ran into a tree, while Zoey was talking to her son about something that I am quite sure was important… Oh, and I fell on the ground. Also, a girl called Mom a human-whore-crazy actress. Or something like that."

I nod and the stewardess hands me a coke. "No, thank you," I say as I hand her back the cup.

"What?"

"Oh, sorry, Fin. I was talking to the flight attendant." I pause as she still holds out another cup, this one with clear liquid. Must have heard about my all-things-fermented-policy. I shake my head and turn away from the beverage zealot. "You ran _into_ a tree?" I can't help but laugh, I have no idea where her clumsiness comes from, I'm sure her mother—who really is kind of a whore-crazy actress, but I don't add that confirmation.

I can hear her laughter on the line and know she feels better just by having shared the information. She's always been that way. Pretending as if nothing touched her but I could see all the fame, the attention, was a burden that she pretended to enjoy to carry. Sometimes her embarrassment would stifle her until she could see the undeniable humor and just laughed it away. I love how easily she could see what was important and what was not. She has never been plagued by the self-centeredness of normal teens or her bat-shit crazy mother. I would like to say that I once was in love with her… but then I realized that it was completely hotness hypnosis, the act of finding someone so physically attractive that you overlook serious flaws in their personality and often realize that they are certifiably insane. Brad Pitt and I coined that term a few years ago over several beers.

"Yes, ran into it, hit it, fell to the ground, and then whined about how wet the grass was. I'm a walking hazard."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, my head hurt, but it's okay now."

"So no, concussion?"

"Well, I might have had one, but Alden walked me home and made sure I kept breathing after I went to sleep in the case of a concussion."

"Wait—wait—wait—wait." I slam my hand down on the airplane console. The blond flight attendant runs up, I wonder if I tell her to meet me in the bathroom if it will give me five minutes of peace…

"Ah, even over the phone you can be archaic and patriarchal."

"Just because you just got out of literature class does not mean you have free rein to pull out your female authoritative words on me!" She was becoming a vampyre too quickly. Soon she'll be a little Zoey clone and bossing me around like always.

Her laughter danced on the end of the line.

"So, Alden walked you home and then stayed? That's so kind. I bet he offered to paint your toenails." I tried to sound exceedingly calm as I asked the question.

She mocked my voice, "Yes, Father, he sat on the floor by my head. And he's a complete narcissist, so you have literally a microbial sized reason to worry. And you know I'm a strictly a only-let-licensed-professionals-at-my-feet kind of girl."

I sighed. I know my daughter and I know the male sex. She is beautiful, intelligent, insatiable, and witty. There is_ always_ a reason to worry and not just in the normal dad way, in the 'oh crap! I can read the minds of my fellow co-workers' way. No male who is thinking with either of his appendages would turn down an opportunity to allow me to throttle him thoroughly. I've even had to swat Brad a couple of times

"Hello? Long pause, are you there?"

"Yes. I was just thinking how much I miss you." Yeah, good one Night! Pull out the sweetness and you'll get more information out of her.

"_Or_ how much you wish you could be here waiting outside my room to kick Alden Redbird's ass?"

_Fucking genius. _I raised her correctly. "Is that an invitation?"

"Too kick Alden's puny ass? Totally."

"Wow, you never welcome that!"

"Well, if you agree to show him a little cod-piece smashing and then head over to bitch-slap the girl in my Literature class, then who am I to deny my Father?"

"Excuse me for just a few minutes."

"Where are you going?"

"To turn the plane around. Do you think that Glamour thing is real? They use it a _lot_ on "True Blood.'"

_**

* * *

(Writer's note: Finley's song in no way belongs to me… although I wish it did. Sherree Chamberlain wrote and performs this number on her album. Check her out!)**_

**Finley**

I hang up the phone and my life is lighter. I didn't realize how much I was going to miss my Dad. He's such a burden-lifter and I can't think how incredibly heavy my life would be without him walking behind me, picking up all of the balls I drop. I realize I am mixing metaphors, but it works for me.

I roll off of my bed and check the time. Dinner should be about finished so it is probably time for me to head to my Instrumental class. I check my schedule and see that guitar is the first instrument we will be focusing upon and grab my guitar case and I am out the door. I understand that in my current outfit, carrying my guitar case on my back, which is covered entirely in band stickers, I look like a walking Portland hippy. I'm completely fine with it. I usually like to dress in themes, maybe it's the dramatic in me, but today I am "Hipster".

As I am running down the path to class I realize that I am not exactly confident as to where my class is. I know that I am not going the correct way when I run into the far wall and that stupid tree. I turn around and try to pretend I know where I am going. I bite my lip and pull a 180 as search all of the buildings that, let's face it, are all gothic and dark. I wish one of them had a big fluorescent sign that said, "Musicians Only!" and flashed bright colors… and maybe with a big arrow and an added "Finley this is your class!"

I have GPS, because I get lost (_a lot_), but that wouldn't help within the walls of the school. I am doing everything I can to _not_ pull out that stupid, look-at-me-I'm-new map to find my class, when the voice comes from behind the tree and scares me out of my skin.

"Little lost there, sugar?"

I turn around and scream lots of rude things in my head like, '_Yeah, idiot, do you know that you sound a little something like Slingblade_?'

"What class are you lookin' for?" A dark boy is sitting beneath that stupid, stupid tree with an iPod on his lap. He has pulled out the other earbud and stood up. He was _tall_, with cropped dark hair and bright eyes.

"Instrumental Theory III."

He smiled a huge (and I'll totally admit it, endearing) smile. "I'm headed that way myself… But you're a little early. You can wait with me for a few minutes and I'll walk you there."

His backpack sits invitingly under the tree, but right now I do really not want to get stuck under this tree with some new boy. "You can just tell me where the class is, so I don't have to bug you while you wait."

He grins again and shrugs. "You won't bug me." He sits down and puts his headphones back in and leans back against the tree, completely dismissing my suggestion.

Obviously, I am being forced to sit and wait. I slump down next to the boy and pull out my iPod and pop in my buds. I scroll it over to Yo La Tengo and let it jam. We sit there in our welcomed solitude together and I can't help but think how strange it is to be lounging beneath _this_ tree with a different boy. I wonder what Alden is doing and if he shared our "incident" with the others during lunch. I know he is a friend of Brand, Lochlan, Blaise and Eden… so I'm sure it's long been shared and giggled about. Lochlan will probably not show me the same favor as he did today in class after a story like that. Blaise seems like the type who just looks for juicy stuff like that to gobble up and spew out all over the next unwitting classmate beside her. Eden and Brand seem to be genuine, but how well do I really know them? I can't help but be weary with this new group of friends. How trustworthy can such an attractive, popular, and talented group of fledglings be? I realize how emo I am being and shove all of these thoughts deep beneath the surface to bubble up later.

I press my fingertips into my eyes and push a little too hard as the bass line gets louder. When I am completely convinced that I have poked my eyes so hard they are within an inch of going dark forever, I steal a glance at my watch. Three minutes until class would be starting… was this kid one of those rebels who think being tardy is like "so scene"? I tap nervously on my knee and wish I hadn't stowed my coffee cup back in the cabinet in the dorms. I could really go for a double shot right about now.

"Hey, Trick, you going to class or do you plan on lazing under this tree until dawn?" A girl with pale blond hair stood by the tree staring down at us. She had a definite glamour cowgirl thing going on with dark denim shorts and cute cowboy boots. I wondered how anyone could wear an outfit that was so southern could totally work and look so vogue. I bet she taught Jessica Simpson how it's done.

"Yeah, girl I'm coming." The boy stands and reaches his hands down to pick up his backpack and offer me help up.

I take his hand and stand up as he pulls me up, practically throwing me to my feet.

"I'm Aiden."

I laugh when I realize we never offered our names when we met. "Finley."

"Ah, I've heard about you." He smiles and walks away quickly, following the path made by Ms. Daisy. I can hear them talking quietly and know that it is about me. I wonder what story they've heard and who has told them. I sigh and realize there's no going back to London now. I chose to come here and I am going to have to make the very best of it. What is the best way to do that? Show them that I'm not a part of their little game. I follow them into the class and break off to sit in the first open seat I see.

"Yo, Finley, over here!" Calls Aiden, looking extremely confused that I didn't follow him around like a puppy. Finley one, Populars zero. I know I am being so 80s movie heroine, but sometimes a girl has got to make stuff happen for herself.

I shrug and face forward allowing the teacher to begin. She pauses while Aiden continues yelling about the open seat he has next to him, pointing wildly. I roll my eyes and ignore him, yearning for the professor to begin and shut him up. Finally, the girl who resembles what I assume a young Dolly Parton looked like, shoves him and loudly exclaims for him to clamp down on his tongue or she'll, "like totally shove my boot up your ass and I so don't want to these are Swarovski encrusted!"

"Thank you," breathes the wispy Vampyre professor and he begins class. I sit back and listen resolutely as he discusses the basics for a short time. "Now, all of you are experienced players, so we shall move to more intricate movements. Wait, Ms. Night, are you familiar with the barré chords?"

I am caught off guard by such an outright question it takes me a minute to answer. "Yeah." Why would I be placed in Instrumental Methods _III_ if I weren't?

He smiles warmly and nods. "Selene, why don't you come up here and we shall demonstrate the piece we've been working on."

The girl that walked in with Aiden (and who he couldn't wait to talk about me with) moves liquidly up to the front of the class, her boots ringing on the tile floor like tap shoes. I look around and see the entire class is leaning forward with slight smiles, expectant. Obviously, she is something of a pet. She must be decent, though I'm expecting some sort of Carrie Underwood show. I sit and wait for her to position herself into the perfect muse poise and begin.

The professor (Elvis, no lie, that's his name) begins strumming while she picks away at her pink classic guitar. She sings in a gentle, yet sensuous voice that rings with strength. I am so impressed I catch myself mirroring the class in awe. The pair finishes and I applaud with the rest of my class in disbelief. Shania can sing and play well.

"Now, I have paired you each up with the person sitting at your table and would like one partner to strum while the other picks. You can both sing or one can just sing. Make up a song; you have until the end of class to prepare at least 30 seconds to perform. The most essential part should be the barré chords, but remember _perform_!" We each turn to our partners sitting beside us and begin quickly.

I am placed with a small boy with red hair and a spattering of freckles. The first thing he says is that he is petrified of singing, so that is left to me. His hands shake has he holds his bright yellow guitar and nod to me to start us off. He had already warned me of his stage fright and complete lack of lyrical knowledge. I assured him that I had many songs I had written and could play in my sleep. Having a famous father and being homeschooled most of my life on set, I've had lots of time to pick up hobbies. Guitar came quite easily but learning to play and sing at the same time and then in front of people was an entirely different story. I was not a huge fan of performing, which was an idea so foreign to my dad it was like I was Greek. I offer several songs using the chords we are expected to display and we decide on my easiest one. I'm not excited we have decided on this particular song, it requires me to express so much emotion in the lyrics that I am not sure the class is ready for it. I don't want to be new emo girl… but Sol would like more than anything to strum a three-chord verse and be done with it.

"Sol, if you curve your fingers in you'll get a much better grip on the strings." I offer to the boy.

Sol and I practiced our short piece. I had given him a quick three-chord progression so his part was down quickly. Sol is not an inexperienced player but I can see that the second I start looking at him he gets nervous and slips a string. I assure him countless times he's got the chords down and he gets an extra ounce of courage. We worked on the timing and had our song done within fifteen minutes, after copious amounts of flattering from me. I looked around the class and Aiden and Selene were sitting like Sol and I, already finished, while the rest of the class worked away. Professor Elvis called everyone to return to their seats and to begin performing their pieces, but no one except for Selene and Alden and Sol and myself were finished.

"Well, how about Finley and Sol start us out?" Elvis sits behind his desk good-naturedly and waits for us to flit down to the stage at the bottom of class.

I pat Sol's shoulder and lead the way to the front. The stage was set up in the old style of an amphitheatre. It reminded me of theatre of Dionysus in Athens, but on a much smaller, less ruin-y scale. I pulled my guitar around to the front, looked to Sol, and smiled brightly. I began our song firmly and he echoed my words with his fingers. I plucked away at the strings singing the song I had written a few years ago in a brilliant fit of emotionality. This song was one of my more folksy pieces that my father thought, "Should be played by one of those flannel wearing hippies." My voice has a wispy quality that only thickens when I find the depth of a lyric. These lyrics were written about my father and a letter I had found a few years before, crumbled up beside the trashcan. I felt my voice grow gravely just thinking of the pure raw sadness in the letter.

I remember holding the white paper in my hands and seeing the typed words swimming on the page in a full heart of pain. I assumed it was written for my mother, but as the years went by I knew it wasn't about her. He never loved her in the way to compose such heart cringing writing like that. I kept the paper and hid it in one of my drawers, promising I would bring it up some day… but I never did. I would picture the man that wrote that letter and hope that he would never be that broken again. Every now and then I would look in his pale eyes and see a little boy who was capable of being so in love and so broken to write something like that. The letter wrote about a man who was ripped up and sucked dry. I could feel the paper burning my fingertips as we stood before the class.

I kept strumming, realizing I would probably go over the thirty-second time limit, but hoping that somewhere my dad is no the man who's song is so powerful, so deep, it makes my voice strive to dive as deeply as he was.

_Oh never in my life_

_Have I compromised_

_So much for a girl who doesn't love me._

_No I try to insist_

_But she always persists,_

_In proving to the world she doesn't love me._

_Oh never could I dream_

_Of a woman so mean,_

_But now I am lying on the floor_

_Because she won't love me._

_I am hung up in my bed;_

_I keep wishing I were dead_

_Because I can't forget the feeling of her body._

_My kisses they just might as well be poison on my lips_

_Because the minute they leave my mouth my spirit dies._

_And the way this poor heart beats_

_It'll bring a grown man to his knees._

_But I never can melt your cold heart full of ice._

_Oh your heart full of ice._

_I used to believe in the things left unseen,_

_But my faith was gone the minute that you left me._

_And I know that I'm not well_

_But God, condemn me all to hell_

_if I believe them when they tell me I've gone crazy._

'_Cause they don't know my kisses_

_They just might as well be poison on my lips_

_Because the minute they leave my mouth my spirit dies._

_And with the way my poor heartbeats_

_It'll bring a grown man to his knees._

_You've assisted me in my own suicide._

_My own suicide._

_And I will swallow my pride_

_And I will believe all the lies for a fleeting chance_

_That you can love me again._

_God it burns down_

_And I am so scared that I may drown_

_So tell me what's the point of staying if you don't love me?_

_What's the use of staying if you don't love me?_

I finished singing and looked up. Every eye in the class bored into mine and their mouths were gaping. I've done it again.

**

* * *

Aiden **

I sat and stared down at the siren singing before the class. The entire class stared, open-mouthed at the new girl. She has a strange voice that dances into a deep rasp in parts of the song that feel as if you could wring out the pain. I cannot fathom who this song is written about but it's all I can do to not run down and wrap my arms around Finley. I feel the emotion hanging in the air like dew. I knew she had to be talented to be placed in such an upper level class, but I had no idea that she would be showing up Selene.

Selene is _not _going to be signing up for the Finley fan club anytime soon. She was already weary of this girl as she was the topic of the dinner conversation. I can't imagine what's she's thinking now. I can only assume total mass destruction will be in the recipe for the final meal this evening. Alden and Lochlan had discussed Finley at length during lunch as Eden and Brand scanned the dining room in concern looking a sign of Finley.

"I'm so nervous that Finley got lost somewhere," mutters Eden. "Have you seen her, Aiden?"

"No, I'm sorry." I answer.

The rest of the table takes little notice of her concern as they continue listing each of their different encounters with Finley. Alden won in the most time spent with Finley category, while Lochlan felt his literature class time was a more quality amount of time, being that she was conscious during his time. I sat, stuck between Alden and Loch as they compared and fought over who would nail her first. Eden huffed and Brand asked if they could talk about this somewhere else.

"I don't understand the appeal," Squeaked Blaise and her ever-appeasing sister agreed.

"I'd hope not, being as you don't play softball professionally!" Barked Alden and then he whispered to me, "I have no idea why I ever tapped that… There is no need for that fire rug to _ever _come close to me again."

I rolled my eyes. I had little to contribute since I had only heard and seen very little of Finley since she entered school.

"What do you say?" Loch rasps, leaning across the table menacingly.

Alden raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair. "Whatever you think. I don't know why you continue these games. You do realize you never win, right?"

Lochlan laughs loudly and turns around to the table behind him. "Ladies? Can I interrupt?" He smiles brightly and them and runs his hands through his blond hair.

They giggle and simper and squeal and act like complete morons. "Of course!" Howls Sasha, a girl I am particularly use for a quick pick-me-up beej.

"Who is your favorite hook-up at this table? Prissy lil' Redbird or _myself_?" He places a deep tone under his voice when he finishes his sentence and they all melt.

Sasha leans across the table and scratches her fingernails down his forearm. I roll my eyes and decide I should find a different beej-call.

"Thanks." He says and turns around. "Don't be so sure, Redbird. Business is business, some prefer expensive, pretentious brands, while others enjoy a good, stylish fuck."

Alden's hand was across the table so quickly it blurred. "Go ahead man. Name your terms."

With that, the deal was made. I am not technically a part of the throw down nor is it technically a bet. It's just a penis battle, but I'd love to throw mine into the ring to see if Finley may bite. Staring at her before me, I am almost positive this match will be much deeper than our usual rivalries… this may be the end, of everything.


	5. Messy You

**Same DRILL: READ AND REVIEW!**

_**Song Suggestion: Might Like You Better by Amanda Blank**_

**

* * *

Selene**

I need a drink—a big one, the type that would get me drunk in two sips. Well, I know that's not possible anymore, so that means I am going to have to drink _someone _who is completely tanked. And that _is_ totally possible. I would only have to make a call or two and I'd be set. I flip open my phone and being scrolling through names.

I look to Aiden who is just as enamored with Finley Night as the rest of the class. Fucking lemming! Who else would fall in love with this girl in the 48 hours she's been here? Don't get me wrong, I'm not jealous. I'm just frustrated. I like consistency and patterns. She goes against everything that the House of Night has erected for the past decade. We have a system of how things are accomplished and she seems completely set on a massive shake up. Does she not know that earthquakes are completely uncomfortable environmental disasters? They don't even happen in Oklahoma, that's a California thing, right? And, okay, singing is my thing at the House of Night. What's next? She'll show an affinity for horticulture? Decide "going green" is like so chic right now and start a club that actually draws members not wanting to _just_ get into her pants? That would piss me off.

Professor Elvis dismisses us and the class can't wait to ambush Finley. Even Aiden is pulling his 'Stop-and-Stare' move. I would make fun of him if I wasn't afraid of getting that auto-tuner song in my head for the rest of evening. If I act like a total bitch to her, I'll look like I'm jealous… I know how I have to play this: Regina George, take one. I saunter down a few steps and over to where Finley is lamely trying to ignore her many admirers and make her exit.

"That was a good song," I say while helping her smash through the crowd of fledglings who part aside for me to pass.

"Thanks," she answers as we push away from the throng. "And thanks for that, too." She motions to the group still congregated around Sol. He gives a star struck wave and nods at the two girls fawning upon him. _You're quite welcome for a day or two of free sex._

"No, problem. They get excited when they think they have a new 'Star.'" I pause and hold the door open. "I'm Selene."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Finley. You had a great song yourself." She adjusts her scarf, which had listed severely back on her head in the mob.

"Thanks! What class are you headed to now?" Good, keep smiling. She'll assume the best, new girls always do. Last year, Sasha had joined us from small town Ohio or Idaho or something, and had the sweetest demeanor and kindest heart. First, I had assumed she would just be a fun little dice game with the boys, but in turn she had proved to be quite the student. Now, she is second circle Selene, providing the best gossip from the concentric groups of the school.

"I just have to log some studio time and then I'm done for the night." She sifts through her disgustingly obvious Urban Outfitters knock-off bag and leans against the ebony granite. Finley removes her iPod and begins flicking through the songs absently.

"Ah, nice. Well, stay away from the Redbird Studio!" I motion toward the clearly marked private studio across the lawn.

"Oh!" She laughs and then continues quietly. "Yeah, I totally already messed that one up! I used it last night not realizing and Alden caught me." I inhale sharply in faux surprise, but she ignores me. "It was okay though. He just let me stay and showed me some of his stuff. It was really nice." She smiles at this and looks towards the studio.

I can't help but let a slight frown embrace my face. Alden _never_ lets people use his studio and I am sure she's gotten that impression. He's a complete and utter diva about it. Once, a professor was using it as a place to store a couple of Chagall art pieces and Alden pulled a Madonna and forced him out. "That's so sweet of him! He hardly let's anyone even breathe in that room." I watch her face carefully for her next reaction.

She smiles a rueful smile. "So I hear." I take her in completely with this. She knows exactly her presence at this school. She isn't a sweet, naive new student. Finley Night is Erik Night's daughter, raised in the Hollywood spotlight and she knows her shit. I was completely off of the reservation with this one. The House of Night had pegged her in a small, round, dewy-eyed hole and what we should have seen is that she was a player. She would not even be placed without knowing what moves she would make next. Right now, I knew that she would be far more of a competitor than anyone dreamed. Alden, Aiden, and Loch would all be vying a conquest of Finely Night but she would be making an entirely different move. She stared into my eyes, daring my next shot.

"Yo, Selene!" Aiden runs up. "Way to walk off and leave me with the sheep!"

I roll my eyes at him but turn back to my new nemesis. "That's your fault for not leaving before they caught you to ask about your magical fingers."

Finley gives him a quizzical look and he returns a knowing smile. "I'm something of Marley."

"Ah." She answers and shrugs her guitar on her back. She turns back to me and wiggles her fingers and eyebrows provocatively. "I really need to get to the studio. Thanks for getting me out of there. Are they always that bad?" Her question seems innocent, but I know her meaning.

I smile warmly. "No, not usually. Only when they think they see something worth fawning over." _Usually just me._

She returns the smile and responds, "Thanks. I think it's just because I'm _new_. I'll see you guys later." With that she turns and leaves ignoring Aiden's sputtering of goodbyes. Well played, Night.

"Shut up, you sound like love-sick bird." I smack Aiden's shoulder and begin walking back to the dorms, already running through my numbers of local townies. If I am going to play this game of chess with Finley Night I am going to need to be completely sexually satisfied. When I get horny I tend to be unable to control my bitchy persona.

"Why were you playing nice with her?" He asks, catching my stride easily. His eyebrows furrow in concern. I want to shove my cell phone up his ass… though I'm sure he'd find some way to enjoy it.

"You may find this concept unfamiliar and foreign, but have you heard of the phrase, 'keep your enemies close?'" Got it! Mark Turning, he's always good for a suck. Blood of course…

"Whatever girl. Don't mess her up too bad… Other wise I'm going to have to put the pieces back together." He smiles and makes a completely disgusting hand gesture.

"With your dick? I'm pretty sure she'd chew you up and spit you out." I let my thumbs write the quick message to Mark.

_**Meet me outside my window in 15.**_

Aiden stares at me indignantly.

"What?"

"You can be such a bitch sometimes! You know that?"

"Of course. And the point of this outburst is?"

"Alden won't stay with you forever."

This stops me and I clutch my vibrating phone tightly. I let my eyes narrow as Aiden stumbles backwards at the intensity of my stare. "What makes you think I want him forever or even now for that matter?"

He takes a step toward me and puts his hand gently on my shoulder, "You."

I shake him off and flip open my phone.

_**I'm on my way! :)**_

"I've got to go. I'm meeting someone."

"They won't erase him."

"I would say 'Fuck you,' but I don't want to wish anything enjoyable to you."

**

* * *

Alden**

I haven't seen Finley since last night. I have a very real suspicion she's avoiding me.

What a strange feeling. I can honestly say this has never happened before. Sure, every guy has had his share of rejection, but I really haven't. I always get exactly what I decide I should get. That's not to say my mom hasn't made me work for everything. She's a great mom, but when it comes to all other females I get them if I want them. I even get the ones I don't want, Blaise for example. I _knew_ I would regret that drunken hook-up the minute I rolled over and saw those green and pink polka-dotted panties trashing up my studio floor. She was the last of the group for me to have and the only one Loch hadn't been able to pull (largely because she is in love with me, the poor chap). So, of course, it was necessary. But I wish that when I had left her lying there she hadn't stomped straight off to Loch and did him just to spite me. I had about thirty minutes of victor's bliss before Loch had caught his pussy list up to mine. Fucking wank. Makes no difference, it's obvious to everyone who has the best record.

I want Finley. This little competition has only heightened that desire. Sure, Finley is enough to vie for but the added humiliation of Loch and its enough to make me giddy. He's a decent competitor, but while he's out working his ass off, I'll just be sitting here, letting her come to me. That's how it works. He dances, sings, scores points, and completely geeks out to get a girl. He becomes whatever they want and when he's got them he sucks them dry and leaves them behind. By the sound of that you'd be sure all the girls out school would hate him… but they don't. They just yearn to come back. It's quite the game he plays. I would be impressed if I wasn't sure my plays were that much more impressive. I, on the other hand, just sit back and contemplate. It may appear as if I'm just lazy, but that's not it, it's patience. Obviously, I still have the post-process stress of girls assuming there is a "we," but it is much more manageable than Lochlan's messes. I have a stack of sketches (all ambiguous charcoals of a female figure) that I leave behind with a scrawl of the words, "I'm sorry." Some try to figure out the why's and why not's but mostly they just assume I am too emotional-artist-non-commital-god to stick it out and just count themselves as lucky bed fellows. Poor Loch, with all that effort he puts in to stick them, they assume he'll want more than coital attention. I have only had a few times that I have wanted to put out the effort that Loch offers on a daily basis. Girls just don't usually warrant the need for a personality change.

Until Finley. There's something that makes me want to sit up and take notice. I want to figure out what it is that makes her who she is. I want to hone in on why she is such a mystery. She has such a distinct personality, look, demeanor, and set of talents. I bet she can pick up just about anything and make it work for her. I like that. I'm like that. I want someone who can make me stop and listen. Most people just quaver under my glance and shake at my words. She didn't. She just stood there and then gave me quite the bitchy little retort. She has wit and a snarky spirit that slaps you in the face but leaves you smiling.

On top of that, I think she is full of deep artistry. She can see things the way only certain people with very complicated gifts can. Skill can be taught, but vision is a part of who you are. It's how you are crafted. She sees the beauty in melancholy, joy in simplicity, and color in chaos. When I stood over her shoulder, watching her stroke the paint onto the canvas in a way that I've only seen a few people do, I could see where she was going. Her plan was thought out and yet still flexible to the art. She was open to letting herself be led. That's what a true artist is: strong enough to be pliant.

I run my hands through my hair and search for the correct shade of red. My eyes find the tube and I spatter it onto my tray and a thought occurs to me as I see the crimson splayed out on the tan of my tray like blood on flesh. This game could be the end of who I am. Millions of people line up on Friday and Saturday nights to see the big bad leather clad boy grow a heart and finally fall in love with the girl and settle down. That's not who I am. I don't need leather to protect my heart. What if Finley does that? What if she Grinch's me and I grow a soul? It's impossible. Isn't it? If it was impossible, then minutes after meeting her why did I march straight to Selene? To prove that I didn't care about her or to distract myself?

I am absolutely consumed with thoughts of Finley Night. I am not the guy who sits around pondering the inner workings of the female psyche. I don't focus my attention on anyone's likes, dislikes, laughs, joys, and favorite songs. What song does she listen to on repeat? What movie could she watch over and over but would never want to admit it?

_Stop._ I command myself to remove Finley from the front of my mind. I arrest her and escort her to very back of my brain, between a crevice. I shove her in there and lock her away. I am too close to what I know I cannot do. I have to save myself.

I let the brush stroke the canvas, not knowing what I am painting but letting my thoughts find the corresponding strokes. Art is like a conversation. Sometimes you aren't sure what you are going to say but you do it anyway. You let it all out and hope that it's not going to come back and bite you in the ass for being honest. I let my thoughts of Finley die away and focus upon covering the white with crimson and black. I swirl the brush and darken the shade of red.

All I can do is paint. I have no words, no understanding of what my feelings could mean. I am too scared to admit how frightened I really am.

**

* * *

Finley**

I knew I shouldn't have done it. But it just seemed like something fun to do.

I turned the knob and let my book bag fall to the ground, splattering books, papers, pens, and my iPod across the floor.

Alden shot forward and spun around throwing a red paintbrush and spilling paint down the front of him. He grasped his easel with a firm hand to steady the shaken canvas, eyes were wide and mouth open, giving him the look of a bewildered pelican. His eyes narrowed when he saw my face and the first honest glimpse of Alden Redbird dies away with his recognition.

"I'm so sorry!" I exclaim and drop my guitar case, throwing books and papers into my bag feverishly.

He pops out his headphones and drapes them around his neck, walking over to me in three lazy strides. "It's alright." Alden leans down and helps me gather my things. His hands are dark and strong, freckled with paint and ink. His white shirt is unbuttoned down his chest and the sleeves are rolled up haphazardly. His hair appears like he has run his fingers through it over and over again. I have never seen him so undone. I can't draw my eyes away from the beautiful mess. They are focused upon him like magnets, taking in all that is coifed into untidy disorder.

I look up and discover what he has been painting. It's not nearly finished but it's a glossed painting of red lips, it appears like there is a varnish on the lips and teeth making them both shiny and hard. Red lips mean Selene. I swallow the eye-roll and decide to narrow them instead. I turn back to Alden as he has taken hold of my iPod, staring at the song I have had on permanent repeat for the past few hours. (It's one of my more annoying traits. I get stuck on a particular song for a couple of days. This last one is a song that I have placed on repeat for the past year. Every time I hear it I can't help but listen to it again and again, and wallow in the beauty of the lyrics and melody.)

"Repeat, huh?" He turns around the screen and points to the "Repeat One" symbol.

I nod and reach for my iPod.

He deftly swings it from my reach and stares at the lyrics as they flash across the screen. "It appears to be a little depressing for a repeat song."

I feel the chagrin creeping up my neck and swipe for the iPod in vain.

"I enjoy Sam Beam, myself. But I've never heard this song, do you mind if I give it a listen?" He pops in the headphones before I have the chance to refuse. I rock back on my heels and wait while he listens to the song. I don't wipe the pouty look off of my face by the time he finally looks up and smiles. "That's a great song. But not necessarily repeat one worthy. "Hickory"... Interesting name."

I clasp the player and swing it back into its protective case. I exhale and look up at him, completely exasperated. "Different songs speak to different people."

He tries to stifle a chuckle and instead grins widely. His aquamarine eyes sparkle as he sits back, like he's staring at a Monet. He looks like he has to glide back to take in the full affect of my presence. "I guess I'll have to agree with you on that." He sits down completely and rests his elbow on his knee. Paint is caked down into the seams of his jeans and coats the tops of his feet.

"Messy day?" I ask nodding to his paint crusted feet.

"Part of the reason I like to keep my studio private."

He had a way of making fragmented sentences clipped and inviting. Like he was letting you in on a tiny secret. I stare at his messy appearance and wonder at the fact that he hides this side of himself. He has such a boarded up personality that I can't help but wish he had the ability to allow himself to breathe. This school seems to breed this buttoned type of thinking. All is proper and upscale, while under the surface is teeming with debauchery and competition. Everyone seems to compare how white he or she can _appear_ while the rest sit around and admire the angelic effect. He could get by with displaying his mess every now and then, I'm sure he could make it work for him. Girls love a good fixer-upper. It must be so exhausting cleaning the outside so immaculately but allowing the interior to rot.

"I like the messy you." With that I stand up, throw my book bag across my body, and shoulder my guitar case. Turning to leave I catch a glimpse of his face, he is wearing that same mask of surprise, but underneath I see a smile peeking from this corners of his well manicured jaw.


	6. Moonshine

_**Read and Review**_

**

* * *

Lochlan**

I don't usually do this.

I _never_ do this actually.

This is totally a fucking first. Loch's a Peeping Tom. Good thing this side of the building is completely deserted.

I let my fingers grasp the windowpane and heave my elbows up to the edge and peer inside. Alden's studio is lit by a spotlight over his easel and then meticulously placed candles throughout the room. He's such a tampon, every girl's cinematic fantasy. "Oh, look at me, I am sexy and I have candles. Would you like to undress?"

I allow my eyes to search the open room and sitting beneath the front door, directly opposite of my spy-window, I find them. They are sitting, probably having a 'moment' as Alden says all of the wrong things but are always perfectly crafted to be anything but _wrong_. If I weren't so transfixed with this one I would be off in the courtyard somewhere peacocking my ass off. For some reason, I know that my normal stuff isn't going to work with Finley. I need to do some reconnaissance work, figure out the game plan and strike before Redbird slithers in too deep.

Suddenly, Alden leans across the space he was ever so graciously leaving between himself and Finley and snatches… something from her. I can just barely make out her face, but she looks pissed. Nice. I think... Is she the type of girl who likes to be roughed up a little? Likes to work for it? If so, I've been playing this entirely wrong.

An iPod, I believe. Yes, most definitely an iPod because Alden is now listening to it. I'm sure he'll say something completely musically snobbish and she'll become even angrier.

And, as I predicted, she looks frustrated! If I could bet on the actions of Alden, I would win every time. He is the most predictable cock in the house.

It looks like she's going to a different studio. I'll give it a few minutes then take a little trip to see her. Way to open it up for me Alden, you are so kind. Alden turns around as she exits the studio and his smile is unfathomable. It is downright unnerving. What the hell is he so happy about? He has the look of a five year old at Christmas time. Was the piss-off-the-pussy totally working?

I let myself slide from the window and land lightly upon the carpet of green. I scratch my slightly stubbled face and search for my next move. There has got to be a double play that I am just not seeing. I need something to smash Alden and take out Finley. Is there some other grandiose plan that I am just not aware of that could thwart any efforts I am making?

I am a complete and utter dickhead! Of course there is. It is so _breathtakingly_ obvious. I must have been blinded by history to not see it at first glance!

Redbird loves this one.

She's not a game to him. Does he know it yet? Does he even understand that the ground he is treading on is so covered with ice that he is no longer walking but speeding headlong to his complete destruction?

_Absolutely not_.

I run my fingers through my hair and know exactly where to go and what to do. Absolute chaos is building and I am so completely in control that I can feel his heart in my fingers. I curl my hand into a fist and imagine actually watching him wither in pain. All of these years I have been waiting patiently for the apathetic lothario to go up in flames, and I've exposed the weakness.

Time to let the snake strike. And for once, I'm not talking about myself.

**

* * *

Alden **

_I like the messy you._

Her words echoed in my mind like a wind chime, breathing in and out of trees, around the porch and dancing up to me in the summer time. She reminds me of lavender, soothing and challenging at the same time.

The place in my mind that I had locked Finley had broken open and the steel door was now damaged irreparably. She was out and running amok in my mind. Turning all of my thoughts, urges, and whims towards herself. I tried to remember some of those lyrics that flashed across the screen of the song that she had on repeat. I couldn't think of any. I am sure I have that song but it's not on this iPod. I would make a note to look up the lyrics, but the way Finley danced around my mind, there would be no forgetting.

I didn't wipe the smile from my face. I didn't wipe the paint from my fingers, shirt, pants, shoes or hair. I didn't swipe her from my mind, I let her take up residence and decorate. If it were up to me, I'd let her be there permanently.

**

* * *

Finley**

I stalked back through the maze of studios just looking for one halfway decent and unoccupied. I would bet good money that the number of art students tripled with Alden Redbird signed on as resident art phenom. I turned up my iPod so that it drowned out the mutterings of artists wallowing in self-despair or weed smoke.

Finally, I found an empty room, completely at the back and possibly one-sixteenth the size of Alden's gilded sanctuary. I dropped my things and stretched my back and arms. I would have to work out some sort of schedule and bag drop off point; I had entirely too many things on my back for that length of time.

My forehead itched from my scarf and I was positively overheating in this flannel shirt. I removed both in lightening speed and kicked off my shoes. Throwing my hair into a quick (and extremely messy) pony-tail, I decided this small space was vacant due to the fact that it was maybe a nine by nine square with a massive light to heat up the area. It was nothing more than a sweatbox. Good thing I decided today was a day to layer everything. I pulled off my beloved Morrissey shirt and got to work.

Before too long I had blues, blacks, and grays all over my white tank top and shorts. I know I had gotten smudges of paint all over my face but at this moment I couldn't have cared less. Staring at the canvas, I fumbled for a title. This is always the hardest part for me. Strangely, regular human names are always what come screaming forward, but not today. This one was something else, more guttural and feral. All I could think of was a sound. How embarrassing for an art critic to turn to me and ask, "Ms. Night, what do you call this piece?" And then I answer with a growl.

It would at least make news.

"Breathtaking."

I whip around and see Lochlan staring directly at me with the most unreadable expression. He was leaning against the doorframe, no doubt because the room was so stingingly musty.

"Thanks." I breathe. How did I not hear the door open?

"What is it?" His arms were crossed across his chest in such a closed stance that I felt slightly rebuffed. I couldn't quite place his smirk. He was showing me such a different persona from the one that I met in class.

"It's hard to explain." I wiped sweat from my forehead and contemplated his presence. Why was he asking me questions about my piece? He doesn't care about art, which was blaringly obvious from the first time we met. He was the jock, who cares for balls and more balls… and maybe some panties for kicks.

He made a disappointed sound and pushed off of the doorframe. Two steps and he was standing before the easel and so close to me that arms were touching. I moved away quickly. He took no notice of how quickly I leapt away from him, just stared at the blue-gray landscape curving off the canvas. "It's nice."

"Nice?" I paused wringing out my brushes. "You just said 'breathtaking' but up close not so much?"

"I'm not one for art." He took a step back and appraised me with slow eyes.

I nodded once and continued cleaning up my space.

He was at the door before I even noticed. "Bye," was all I offered.

"I wasn't talking about the painting."

My face snapped up as his smile broke and he was gone just as quickly as he had come.

**

* * *

Selen's ... Dirrttayyyy. Oops.**

Sauntering to my bedroom was no easy, quick venture. Absolutely everyone was discussing "the song". I hate that a "the" was dripping with such inflection that I used air quotes in my head when thinking of it. Though the trip was treacherous, I was finally in the homestretch.

Once inside my room, I saw Mark sitting outside on a branch. He is such a monkey, and not just for his ability to climb trees. He waved like a fool at me from the window. I ignored him and turned into my private bathroom to ready myself for the evening. Precoital readiment is always necessary, no matter if you are slumming it in the surrounding jock-pool. I pulled on my red gingham nightdress, not caring for the fancy lingerie that I so often used for others. Tonight was business, and the delay was unnecessary. Mark was going to rip off what I told him to, why waste the expensive things?

Mark was teetering on the branch outside my window, leaning precariously. I knocked on the window loudly and he stirred roughly and almost lost all balance. "You flaming imbecile! Get inside before you kill yourself!"

"I'm so sorry Leney! You said not to come in until you were in!" His face was sheepish, as he lumbered into my room none too quietly.

"Please, go ahead and do a tap dance on my floor. I am quite sure your loudness could rise any higher." I take a seat on my bed and give him a look that signals the time for words is over. He's fiddling with his pants without a word and drops them quicker than a virgin on Sunday. "Oh, and Mark?"

He looks up and furrows his brow like a puppy caught chewing the couch. "Yes?"

"Leney is never to be used again."

He nods his head violently as he pulls off his too-tight Abercrombie shirt and somehow gets tangled in the sleeves. He is such an idiot, but one that has the best body outside of the House of Night. I rip the shirt completely and throw it to the floor. Tossing him onto the bed, I pull his hair to drag him to the headboard. Crawling up his torso, I take a seat. His eyes widen as my legs are spread and he sees my lack of under things.

"Shall I restate the rules?" I ask as he continues the perverse stare. His brow hair was already wet with perspiration and he bit his lip to keep from emanating sound. My lashes flutter and I let a tinkling of laughter escape. "Wonderful." The rules are for me to take care of what I need and for him to remain quiet both in the room and outside of it. He knows his place and keeps it quite well, always making him one of my regulars.

He sneaks his hands up to cup my ass and squeezes gently, signaling his readiness. "Selene, bite me, _please."_ He turns his chiseled cheek and bites his lip, already gyrating underneath me.

There is nothing more erotic than a man begging for me. My fingers were still in his hair and I dug my nails in harder, turning his head even further. His moan was slight and I know he was holding back. Good boy. I held one hand in his chestnut hair and drug the other down his forehead to his ear, scratching a line of blood. His moan deepened and I smiled. Letting my tongue wipe the blood quicker than a snake. His hips swirled hard and fast and I arched my back and let my head swing as the fire burned in my mouth.

"More!" He moaned and began to arch his back.

I took hold of his chest with my nails, scratching like a cat. As the blood flowed his groans took on a deeper cadence. Licking and biting, I had now changed positions and was resting my body fully across his. He was moving up and down, arms sprayed out, wrenching my sheets with fists of steel. I now bit freely and drank from him and he stopped his breath completely, staring down at me with a face of awe.

"Breath Mark!" I screeched at him after I realized he hadn't been breathing for too long.

It was as if his eyes had been glued to my face and all of his bodily functions with them. He took a deep breath and laughed weakly. At this point I ripped off my nightgown and flipped him on top of me. He laughed louder this time and pinned my shoulders against my bed. I reached my hands down to his boxers and used my feet to kick them off completely. He smiled and began kissing my throat and nibbling lightly. I let a moan escape and let my toes travel to his groin. His face slackened and stopped as I worked away. "Selene, Selene!" He was growing to loud so I squeezed fiercely and he bit his lip and fell upon me. I bit his neck lightly and he yelled with pleasure. His hands found my lower back and thrust me inside.

**

* * *

Zoey **

The European Council Meetings have been an annual installment since Neferet went completely crazy and tried to dominate the world with her immortal lover. I don't like to talk about those times. So many innocents were sacrificed to her empty ambition and everyone's life was irrevocably altered. Sometimes I try to think what life would be like if Neferet had never strayed from the path of Nyx… Stark would never have left the Chicago House of Night, Loren would have never seduced me, Erik might have stayed the man I fell in love with… and Kalona would have never… Well, I try to keep myself from thinking these thoughts.

I squeeze Stark's hand firmly then follow up with a gentle brush of my lips to his palm. I can't deny the Italian landscape's romantic ambience. What I would give to blow off the entire set of meetings to spend time alone with my warrior. His smile blooms upon his face as he draws my lips into the normal rendezvous with his. Stark parts his lips and welcomes my mouth warmly and gently.

"I adore you, love." He grins at me and then steals a glance over my shoulder. "But I have to admit, this view is climbing the list."

Turning to take in the rocky and lush scene, I breathe in the warm breeze. I back up to the balcony and place my face obviously in Stark's line of sight, pulling my whipping hair from my lips. "How about now?" I try to mirror his cocky-one-eyebrow-up-face that I can _never_ repeat.

He bites his lip and shifts his gaze downward. Looking back up at my face he smiles a cock-eyed grimace and murmurs, "It's definitely not a contender…" He brings my face closer to his and breathes, "I'm going to have to buy a thesaurus just to look up new words for 'beautiful.'"

"Ah, you've never been my verbose lover," I say as I wrap my arms around his neck and draw him into an embrace.

"But I could kick the asses of those poetic admirers." He presses his forehead to mine.

Stark looks the same as he did the day I met him. Well, with slight modifications, the red mark and slightly more angular cheekbones. But besides that, he hasn't aged a day. He is still the brown haired muscular man I fell in love with in that practice room. His appearance hasn't changed and neither have his feelings for the men of my past. He barely has room for Alden in my life, much less male friends from school days. I know what he is alluding to and I choose not to give him leave to verbally berate Erik Night. It would be awkward enough seeing him in a few hours.

Seeing him for the first time in seventeen years.

Seeing him for the _last_ time.

**

* * *

Erik**

"Would you like extra towels, Mr. Night?" The raven headed concierge crooned her freshly glossed lips at me.

I had no energy to notice much more of her appearance and I felt badly for her effort to woo me. Today would not be the day to waste time on me. I had bigger and better females to worry about. Zoey is in the building, I could tell by the parade of male warriors and the red carpet. If there is anyone else they are bending backward for, it would her.

"No, thank you." I feigned a smile, clutched my room key, and turned to make my journey to the dark, welcoming hotel room. In this room I could spread out on the large cool bed, draw the drapes, call my daughter, and then, graciously and wondrously, sleep until this blasted council calls me to meet and greet.

"Okay, and your bags?" She continued her verbal assault on my turned back. Her hands were trembling as she patted, or rather caressed my cashmere sweater.

I exhaled and with every ounce of pretense and fiber of the actor I am (I should get my third Oscar for this one) spoke gently, "Actually, I can get them. Thank you very much for all your help. This hotel has wonderful service. May I have a comment card?"

Her face was like a garden, her cheeks pink posies, and her lips red as roses and her eyes like a deep green leaf. She was beaming at my words and mumbling in Italian- words I tried to not translate in my mind.

_"Attore tipo e attraente e piacere dio!" _She hands me a card, filling my mind with Italian verbs, conjugations and phrases.

"Grazie," I nod and seek to free my hand from her grasp.

But she has other Italian words to fill me with. She knows I can understand and she is doing her very best to be the seductress she believes she is.

_"Lo desideria a sesso e tu."_ She continues, but I know the loose translation (She would 'like to sex me') of her words and I can't keep her out of my head. She really was quite pretty. But her words and her incredible openness were unattractive. When will women realize that men _enjoy_ the chase! Do lions eat the buffalo that lay down before them? No, they want to chase the strongest and take that one. Now, I will admit the weaker lions that cannot fend for themselves will take the weak offering, but if they ever had the chance to take down a thoroughbred, they would. And it would be the highlight of their hunting career.

Stammering to come up with the correct, polite Italian let down I hear the voice cut through every word I sought to conjugate.

"He's not interested." The silky voice that I would know through a barrage of jazz trumpets paused. "I think you can understand my frankness."

I whip around and standing behind me underneath the cascade of granite and gold filigree stood Zoey, dark and mysterious. Her painted arms were crossed over her chest as she eyed the concierge who had faded completely from my eyesight. Zoey's fingers held tightly to her biceps, obviously straining to keep her power in check.

Reunited, like this, is not how I had imagined it. Her, staring down a female and me, gazing like a twelve-year-old boy.

"Come on Erik, I know you have more to say to me than that." Zoey smiled and turn exited through the hallway, begging me to follow, urging me to return to whom I was. I could stand here and apologize to this concierge and offer to make it up to her in my bed… or I could comply.

**

* * *

Alden **

Sitting alone in my room, listening to my Crosley is one of my most preferred pleasures. Today it holds none of its usual solemn intrigue. All I can think about is Finley and what the hell this song means to her.

I had marched back to my room and went straight to my vinyl closet. It took some searching but I found the album, "Around the Well" by Iron & Wine. It was on my least played, I tend to need a little more than a whispery voice and classic guitar. But I immediately understood why Finley enjoyed this music: it's calming, natural, and completely honest. Listening to this music only brings her back to the front of my mind where she swims and dances in front of me has he picks his guitar. I _want_ her here and I _want_ her to tell me why she listens to this song on repeat.

I had to look up the lyrics so that I could feel completely studied. So that I could feel completely taken in by her song. So that I could be completely surrounded by her.

"Hickory"

by Iron & Wine

_He kissed her once as she leaned on the windowsill_

_She'll never love him but knows that her father will_

_Her fallen fruit is all rotten in the middle but her_

_Breast never dries when he's hungry_

_The money came and she died in her rocking chair_

_The window wide and the rain in her braided hair_

_A letter locked in the pattern of her knuckle_

_Like a hymn to the house she was making_

_Blind and whistling just around the corner and there's a_

_Wind that is whispering something_

_Strong as hell but not hickory rooted_

_She kissed him once cause he gave her a cigarette_

_And turned around but he waits like a turned down bed_

_And summer left like her walking with another and a_

_Sound of a church bell ringing_

_The money came and he died like a butterfly_

_A buried star and the haze of the city lights_

_A gun went off and her mother dropped her baby on the_

_Blue-feathered wing - we were lucky_

_Blind and whistling just around the corner and there's a_

_Wind that is whispering something_

_Strong as hell but not hickory rooted_

After listening to the song over seven times, I decide it's time to get up and pour myself something strong. My bottle of gin grinned at me from behind my schoolbooks. Several glasses later I have devised a plan so beautiful and so fool proof I think it should be published in the Alden Redbird Hall-of-Fame.

Reaching for the phone, I place my bottle in the trashcan and dial a number I have never dialed before.

It rings four times.

"Hello?" The sweet voice is sleepy and a little higher pitched than I've ever heard it before.

"Good morning moonshine. Would you like to go for a walk?"

**

* * *

Finely **

After such a weirdo day I decide to head straight back to my room, put on some records, call my dad and kiss this world goodnight (or day). Picking my most melancholy Fitzsimmons album, I pull off my jeans and hit the number two speed dial. Ringing until it goes to voicemail, I decide he must still be getting settled.

After that, I hastily ready myself for bed and I am asleep in what must be five minutes. I'm dreaming sweet dreams of meadows, raining letters, rocking chairs. It's all very symbolic I'm sure. But it's a dream, so I'm just frolicking as one does in dreams.

Until my room phone rings. I stumble around, because I wasn't even sure that people even used landlines anymore. Turning my room upside down to make the incessant phone die, I find it and clutch it in my hands deciding what would be the best way to make it stop ringing. What would be most painful to this inanimate object?

But what if it was my dad? Possible.

"Hello?"

"Good morning moonshine. Would you like to go for a walk?" Who ever this is is drunk, so not my dad.

"What the hell? Who is this?" I screech—my half-asleep voice is unkindly super high pitched. I sound like a demon or fairy, depending on how angry I am. Right now is totally demon.

"Why don't you come find out?" The voice slurs but doesn't quite rid its self of smoothness.

"Yeah, I think I'm not going to do that. Good morning." I start to slam the phone down on the receiver but I hear yelling so I pull it back up to my face.

"—do that. I'm sorry I'm a little tipsy. But I didn't realize you would be asleep, it's still early. Most kids are still out."

"Yeah. I had a weird day. Who is this?"

There is a knock at the door and I tell the caller to hold on. As I open the door I see Alden standing there, record under his arm, a bottle clutched in the same hand, and phone plastered to his other hand. He clicks the phone shut and smiles warmly, which isn't hard as his cheeks are flushed. "Good morning." His violet tattoo seems to stand out in this early morning light. "Are you going to let me in? You know that whole 'invite in' thing isn't really factual; I can still push my way in…. Not that I would."

I roll my eyes and hold the door aside. "Go ahead." I motion to my room and see that I really had caused some serious damage to my room finding the telephone.

"Been ransacked lately?" He asks, taking a seat at the end of my bed.

"I didn't know we had room phones. And you woke me up, I'm a little feisty when that happens." I follow his eyes as they pan down my body and I realize I'm not wearing any pants. I grimace and grab my robe from my chair and wrap it around my body.

"I'm sorry," He murmurs and diverts his eyes.

"Whoa, I thought you were Alden? Have they created a mask so guys can impersonate you now?" I say as I flop onto my bed.

"That would totally sell out." He says leaning back against the wall and peeking at my Crosley record player.

"Ha," I mock. "It Fitzsimmons. Do you know him?"

"Yes, a little too tranquil for my tastes." He holds out the record he was holding and I recognized it immediately. "This however, has grown on me like an unwelcome fungus."

"Yet, it has grown." I rub my eyes to rid them of the wake-up mist.

"Very much. I'm sorry I just came over unannounced but I have been listening to that song and I need to know why you enjoy it so much. It's incredibly sad."

I can't help but grin. I push my dark curls out of my eyes and look at him fully for the first time since he barged into my room. He was drunk, of course, but he was also free of all pretense and conceit. He was being honest. He just wanted to know. And I'm sure he'd share a couple glasses of gin with me.

"A drink first?" I ask.

His chuckle shook the bed and he was up instantly rummaging for glasses. He returned to the bed with tinkling of a couple of my mugs.

"Classy." I laugh along with him, grabbing my Shakespeare mug.

"Grabby aren't we?"

"It's my favorite."

"Well then, I guess I'll settle for this lovely mustache mug." He held up the mug that I had painted a mustache on a few months ago.

"Sadly, the last time I was using that mug was under the influence… I painted that lovely piece. I think it's one of my most dear works of art."

"Too bad we can't get 'under the influence' past the point of tipsy-ness."

"You seemed pretty close on the phone." I say with raised eyebrow.

"It takes skill, of which I am sure you are not up for." He raised his mug to his face, giving him the look of a nefarious old west cowboy. He wrinkled his eyebrows and made funny faces with the mug.

"I'm sure we can make a play for that skill tonight, my friend. Beware; I'm a Hollywood child. My stereotype precedes me." I clink my mug against his and we drain the contents in a gulp.

"You always speak the truth!" He exclaims while filling our mugs again.

"Put on your record and I will fill you with wisdom."

That is how we sat, he on the end of the bed and me at the head. Listening, talking and drinking. Every now and then he'd hold the mug up and say, "Stick 'em up!" And I'd laugh at his lameness but secretly smile at how incredibly open he was to me. By the end of the night he had move up inches and was lying his head on my lap.

Taking his mug I say, "Alright, Sundance, let's give the mustache mug a little rest."

"Sundance, I like it." He lefts his head up on his palm and props himself up on his elbow. Looking up at me he asks, "Why do you get to be Butch Cassidy?"

"I don't. I'm Jesse James."

"But we're friends? So shouldn't we be Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?"

Before I could answer my door whips open as Eden walks in being trailed by Brand and Loch. Alden springs up so quickly it's like a lightening bolt has struck is backside.

"Oh, hey guys." I greet, but I am unable to hide my surprise at Alden's reaction. It was as if he was afraid they would know he had been here with me. Lying his head on my lap, talking without his usual mask of agitation.

"Hey, kids. Looks like we interrupted something…" Loch says with his usual beaming smile. He claps Alden on the back and chuckles unabashedly.

"No, man, just talking art and other things." Alden says from the door. He had already planned his escape route. With that he waves good-bye at the rest and is out of my door without a glance at me.

Crumpling against my headboard I smile at the group and ask the usual polite questions of how their days went and so on. Decorum is easy when you are disappointed. Eden smiled sweetly at me and Brand looked sympathetic. Loch on the other hand looked triumphant.

Before he left, he bent down and picked up the bottle of gin Alden had dropped beside my table. Spinning it in his fingers he bends down to my ear and whispers, "There's still a little left. Do you mind if I finish it off?"

I shake my head and he drains the bottle as he leaves my room, slamming the door in his wake.

**

* * *

Selene**

There are certain things that people do that will always be trademark. They will always be the things that alert you to their presence before they even make themselves known. My mom has a smell, its earthy and wild but with sweetness that ties the rest together. I have a walk that signals aristocracy, power, and beauty. Alden always knocks the same, one lazy and then three in a cadence that says he is annoyed but always in good humor.

Shoving my token football player out the window, I sprits myself with perfume and take a look in the mirror. Although having a wild morning, I look presentable. It's hard for me to not have a welcoming look when I look wild—it seems to compliment me.

The knock rings again but this time with more agitation. Good, he's hot and bothered. Better for me. I swing the door open and exhale in a sigh. Standing before me was not Alden with his normal lazy wall lean, but Lochlan smiling in triumphant cockiness.

"What do you need?" I ask in frustration.

"Aren't you going to invite me inside? You took all of that time to get ready, might as well." His smile curves and cinches at the side, unnatural.

"I was asleep, that's what took so long." I try to read him, but he's fortified his face against me. He's unreadable.

"We both know that's a lie." He pushes past me and glances around the room. "Did you push him out the window? Have a little class, S."

I roll my eyes and rub my neck in the spot that aches when I lie. "Loch, what do you want?"

He plops down on my bed and rests his head on his hand, elbow up, just like Alden always does. I shake my head.

"I was just checking up on you. I wasn't quite ready to go to bed so I thought…"

"No. Not tonight." I wrap my robe around me, tightly. "I'm tired."

"But I thought you had no one in here?"

"Doesn't matter if I did or didn't have anyone in here."

"S, I know you. You are upset about the whole Alden situation. You called a human and he came over. You heard a knock, assumed it was Alden and shoved him out the window. I hope he isn't dead by the way, they'll smell the imprint and you'll be in trouble."

"He's an excellent climber."

His laugh was so loud I wouldn't have been surprised if the walls had shook. "How about we cut the shit?" He says abruptly. His blue eyes were straight and angry. "You are the type of bitch who uses people. I am the type of bastard who uses people. We both need something, so why don't we compromise and just get this done?"

His words sting me, piercing my skin and burrowing deep. Making me feel dirty and shallow. I close my eyes and wish him gone. When he doesn't disappear I open my mouth slowly. "_What do you want?_" I ask, emphasizing every word.

He runs his hands through his blond hair and murmurs deeply, "To celebrate."


	7. Debut

Read and review this MOTHA!

**

* * *

Stark **

The setting could not be more perfect for a romantic tryst: the hillsides decorated with rock, emerald grass filling the fissures, and just when you were sure you had seen it all, to the far east lay a powerful waterfall. It crashed and bled over its banks with systematic fury. The otherworldly feel was empowering to this old, brutish warrior. I could be romantic here. I could make her feel weak in the knees… or some other non-cliché thing a more poetic man would say. I could feel tenderness waft over me, daring me to try my hand at passion.

I would draw upon the scene to create the most fantastic romantic night she's ever had. Turning away from my inspiration, I run my hands along the silk bedspread. Scarlet. How fitting. The penthouse was phenomenal with its lofted ceilings and luscious amenities, but I need something unique, memorable. I decided I could be man (or vampyre warrior) enough to enlist the help of outsiders. Our son would know the perfect addition to this night, I'm sure, but there was something gag-reflexive with asking him for help bedding his mother.

Zoey said she was going to speak to the Circle about tomorrow's ceremony and we all know that will take a sufficient amount of time with their need to outwit one another with ridiculous comments. Sneaking down to the concierge, I begin to formulate my list of needs:

Champagne (I'm no idiot.)

Strawberries (So, I here they go together.)

Chocolate (See above.)

Lavender (Zoey loves it.)

Lots and lots of candles (Darkness with a splash of light.)

I wasn't sure what other things could be added to completely solidify the night. Maybe the concierge could help me out with the interesting female seducing tactics I don't have.

My feet pick up the pace in excitement as I turn the corner to the lobby. I cannot wait to create a honeymoon-like night for Z. She deserves it. It's not like I never tried to give her one. She just always felt like marriage wasn't a necessary part of our commitment. I agreed that my oath was much stronger than any wedding oath. We made promises and we've kept them. But I know that it's always important to keep things special.

I am ticking off the list on my fingers when I see _them_.

They are in a dark corner of the lobby arguing about something. They are whispering in what are obviously impassioned voices. I can see it before he even actually makes the movement—he puts his hand out and grips her arm, tightly, too tightly.

Like I am manifesting lightening, I am in between them. Fury rises to my chest and releases into my words, "You will not be touching her in that manner."

"I'm sorry, sir." The man whispers, embarrassed and frightened.

The concierge is choking on her words and she bites her lip in silence.

The man bows once and exits the room mumbling brisk apologies.

"He won't be bothering you like that again. If he does, let me know." I reach out my hand to hers. "I'm James Stark."

Her hand is warm and her cheeks are flushed. She takes my hand and shakes it once. "Arimella. Thank you for that." She walks over to stand officially behind her concierge desk. "Now, what can I do for you?"

I smile warmly and lean against the desk informally. "Well, I am needing some female advice… if you could spare any."

Her left eyebrow hitches over her green eyes and she grins widely. "I'm sure I can help you out most readily."

"Wonderful! I need help creating the most romantic evening for my lover. She is unique; so this night needs to match her. Trouble is, I'm not so good at coming up with anything other than champagne, strawberries, can—"

"Candles, flower petals and so on?" Her smile is devilish as she speaks her Italian dipped English.

I nod and shrug in exasperation. "Yeah, that's my list." I pause then add, "And chocolate."

"Of course! When are you wanting this evening to commence?"

The timing was not completely stapled down, but I'm sure she wouldn't take all day to plan the ceremony. "How about in an hour?"

Her fingers drummed the keyboard for a few moments and then she looked up and smiled. "I think I can have your room completely done in fifteen minutes. Is that enough time?"

"Sure!" I say, jumping across the desk and clapping her shoulder.

She shook with laughter and mumbled under her breath, "This makes me feel so much better than earlier! That woman was so awful to me."

I wondered what woman, but I figured she whispered for a reason, so I left it alone. Besides, girl problems are not on my agenda tonight. "Thanks for your help!" I call as I look around for an exit.

I begin walking through a different foyer as she yells out to me quickly.

"Oh! Sir, please don't go through there! _They_ are in there and asked for complete privacy!"

But it was too late, I had opened the door and I saw _who_ wanted privacy. Zoey sat, or really, leaned toward Erik as he inclined his body into hers.

And there I was, seventeen again, watching the love of my life stare like that at Erik Night.

**

* * *

Finley **

Well, I haven't felt this much like shit in a long time. I wish I had the luxury of blaming it on a hangover and not effing, ugly (though _so_ not ugly at all), pompous Alden Redbird. I rub my eyes and decide to stop being a damn second string sissy. I get up and see that Eden has already made her bed and is sitting doing some light, pleasure reading this fine evening. What a Martha Stewart. At least watch some television when you first get up.

"Is that your way of giving me the morning book off?" I ask as I begin to peel the leftover make-up residue from around my eyes.

Eden laughs and swivels her chair. "Book off?" She is wearing a white pencil skirt with an art print tucked into the high waist and topping it all off, what could only be Laboutins. I know that sole anywhere.

"Yeah, you know, like: 'Hey, book off! I'm reading here'."

She pushes the one loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiles coyly at me. "Not at all. Actually, I was waiting for you to stop pretending to be asleep so I could talk to you."

Here it comes. "Sure, but I hope you make it quick. My scalding shower beckons."

She folds her hands before her like a regular Dr. Phil. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but what happened last night with Alden?"

My lungs deflate and my brain falls into their empty space. "That was the question I was hoping to avoid."

"Oh, well, you don't have to answer." She twitched in her chair nervously.

"No, it's fine." My brain slowly began its ascent to its normal home and words came easier. "Nothing happened. We talked, drank, listened to music. It was nice. Nothing for him to freak out about the second he was seen by you guys. I mean it's not like we were making out or anything."

She nodded knowingly and pursed her lips. "Just be careful with him, Fin. He's kind of the—"

From the bathroom, I interrupted her, "Resident heart breaker. I know. But it was nothing. I wasn't pining after him just hoping and praying he'd kiss me. I couldn't care less what he does with his lips. He just sprinted out of here like I was some leper he couldn't even be friends with." I wrapped the towel around me and stepped out to face Eden.

Her face was hard. "I don't think he's embarrassed to be your friend."

"Interesting." I reply sarcastically. "I often get weird, twitchy, and run out of rooms when my friends come over and see me talking to guys. It's totes normal."

She grinned. "I know Lochlan likes you."

I exhaled loudly and hung my towel beside the shower door. "I don't want anyone to like me like that, I just want to have some friends."

"You got me," Eden yelled from the room. "As long as you promise to actually do your hair at least once a week."

Opening the shower, I chuckle. "What a hard bargain you drive, Eden Lafont. I'll think about it."

**

* * *

Lochlan **

A night of hard and rough sex is always enjoyable. Especially if I know Redbird would shit his pants if he heard about it. One day, I'm going to just _accidentally_ slip and tell some idiot and let it waft around school until it gets back to him. The trickle down method is quite affective. I smack Selene's ass hard with my free non-numb arm. "Get up! You're on my arm."

"What?" She mumbled. Her golden hair curled around her face and her breath was rank.

"Get. The. Hell. Off. My. Arm." I pause and turn my face away. "And your breath is disgusting."

"Shut up you asshole. It's not like you smell like a garden in the morning." She rolled off the bed and glided to the bathroom muttering, "Thinks he pisses golden sunshine and shits unicorns…"

I snicker to myself and slide on my pants. Running my hands over my face to erase the morning rancor, Selene yells at me from the bathroom.

"So, do you plan to enlighten me to the plan?"

I roll my eyes. Selene was good for some things: sex, lust, gardening, and jealousy; not so good for others: planning, seduction, math, and general know-how. "Sure, just as soon as I come up with one."

Her face peeked around the corner, revealing her naked shoulder. "If we are going to pull this off I need to know what I'm supposed to do. Finley isn't the innocent doll you boys think she is."

I tug on my shirt to hide my knowing smile. Finley was easy; she was a comic book archetype of every bad boys dream: natural, intelligent, hard to get, and funny. All the makings of the perfect takedown. Alden had confirmed it himself when he ran out of her room like Paul Walker auditioning for a World War I epic. He was bat-shit scared. He couldn't have gift wrapped my victory better. Finley's face was like a defeated puppy. She would play well as my doppelganger queen. Ugh, I'm starting to annoy _myself_ with my game innuendos. But when I know it, I know it, you know? "Don't worry about it Selene. Today just focus on being over Alden. And I'll let you know what to do next."

"But what if he just comes over? That's what he usually does."

"I'm counting on that. He'll be pissed at himself for last night and Finley won't give him a second glance. So he'll come to you. I'll even give you a timeframe: 3-4 a.m. When he gets here just say that you're already busy."

"You're that confident?"

"It _is_ a celebration for a reason."

"I don't want to hurt him."

"We won't. We'll just show him that you are the only one he wants." Selene's smile was serene and jubilant. She giggled once and I heard the shower door slam.

With that I exited the room knowing that today was my day. I call the shots.

**

* * *

Alden**

I am an asswipe.

I am a fuckwit.

I am a toolbox. Nay, a tool shed, one so incredibly worthless that you would expect some collaboration for Tim Taylor somewhere. Call up Home Depot and tell them to get me a drill. I am exuding stupidity, arrogance, and just general doucheyness.

I've already showered twice to try to get rid of the nausea. I just keep seeing her face, floating in front of me like a unwelcome reminder of how fucking insane I am. I keep clutching the sides of my shower to keep my body from completely crumpling. I hope to throw up, but I can't. Nothing comes. This poison is coursing through me and I can't expel it. It's punishing me and it won't leave.

I don't know why I ran out of there like a cooch. I just reacted. I saw Loch, perceived his cocky smile, and bolted. He looked at me like I was some cornered cockroach. He knows I like her… way too much. I could see it in the way he grinned at me and then smirked at Fin. I couldn't let him do that. We game each other and I wasn't just going to _give_ him this victory. That's not _me._

I wish I could puke. I would feel better. And then I could call Finley and tell her that I was sorry and got a sudden case of the stomach flu, resulting in spontaneous leg eruption. Too bad she was too smart for that. There had to be some way to erase my reaction and go back to yesterday. Bad boyfriends do it all the time. They wank up and then the girl gets pissed and he says he's sorry and they're golden. This would work on some other girl, Selene or Blaise or even Eden. They would all welcome me back with flowers. Not Finley. We hadn't connected yet. I mean— we did a little. But then I went and acted like she was shit.

I gripped my stomach harshly, clenching it hard enough to bring blood. I could feel her leaving. Slowly withdrawing from my brain. She wasn't hanging out in my head, mocking me playfully, dancing around to slow guitar plucking, and smiling at my idiosyncrasies that I had only let her glimpse. She appreciated the messy part of me and I could breathe. For once, I felt like I could take a deep breath and my lungs had expanded, swelled in relaxation. But now, they were being crushed back into my ribs. They had experienced the liberation of true, unguarded breath and now they were forced back into the confines of my gilded cage. They would soon give up the fight and I would dissolve with them, assassination in a pent-up suicide of exertion.

I stumbled against the walls of shower, water pouring around me. With one final movement of moving pictures, a silent film played before me. I saw us, lying on the bed, laughing and drinking. She had looked at me so kindly, yet knowingly. Then she melted before me. How could I be so ruined by this? It was nothing. One night! She was one girl! But I knew as I lied to myself that she wasn't just one.

_She was all._

**

* * *

Finley**

In the shower I slowly release the tension that had wrapped around my body and seeped into my marrow during my sleep. I had welcomed the hostility for Alden to seep into my muscles and tighten like concrete, weighing me down with angst. I rolled my head and shoulders to allow the stress to evaporate in the heated rain. I refuse to give Alden control over my comfort. That's not the type of girl I am. No guy will dictate my feelings much less bodily comfort and sleep. My father had taught me better than that. I had always been his protégé—the one who would never be broken. No matter what, I was to remain strong and in control. I was the force of his knowledge, of all the things he'd learned. Stepping out of the shower, I decide to make this day my own. I am going to direct the day. "Eden," I called drying myself hurriedly. Today, I take the power back.

"Yeah?" I could hear her book snapping shut in attention.

"How would you feel about having a little party today?" I peeked around the corner of the bathroom door and saw her surprise melt into delight.

"I would feel fantastic about it! What type of party are we talking?" Her blue eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm as she folded her hands beneath her chin.

"A big one. We could even call it a _soiree_, if you'd like." I wrapped my robe around myself and took a seat at the vanity.

"A big one? That would be wonderful, but you want it to go down today?"

"It would be a testament to how dazzling a party planner you could be." As I combed my dripping hair I looked into the mirror and saw Eden's face contort into a competitive smile.

"Okay, theme?"

"Film Noir?"

"Ooooh! I love it! Venue?"

"How about a vault at the bank?"

Eden's face reddened and she clapped her hands in excitement. "Oh my goodness! That would be _amazing_! My mom could totally pull that off for us, being that my grandpa is like the _president_ of the bank!"

I laughed and turned to face her. "I know. Now, the only things we need will be Hold 'Em Dealers, bouncers, food, oh and of course guests."

"Not to mention the most important thing!" She laughed and clapped again. I lifted an eyebrow and she continued, "_Outfits!"_

I grinned crookedly. "I didn't want to say anything but I kind of have an in with a few designers. Are you familiar with Monique Lhullier? Or Alexander McQueen?"

"Oh my word. I may faint." And Eden was not lying, her face drained of color and she began to breathe rapidly.

"Okay, I've got to have friends who can handle designer namedrops with the best of them."

She laughed and began to fan herself. "How are we going to get dresses so quickly?"

"I'm going to put in a call. They won't be made for us personally, but we definitely can get some one-of-a-kind stuff."

"Well, I have never been more happy to have you as a roommate!"

"I'm sure. But don't get too excited, I need you to help with the bouncers, guests and food… So basically everything else."

She saluted me in one swift motion and was up from her chair. "On it. I'll get all the rest. Party explosion in ten hours!"

I smiled and reached for my phone. "I leave the party in your hands." And with that Eden practically sprinted from the room. I made my quick calls and Monique and Alex agreed to send some dresses straight to a jet as long as I promised to have my dad call them and say 'hey'. Or basically, I pimped my dad out for a couple dresses. He owes me one anyway. They also agreed to make sure a tailor would accompany the garments to make sure they fit perfectly. I left the rest to Eden who seemed to be in social function heaven.

Dropping the phone I lay my head in my hands. I am determined to make this day great. I'm not letting some guy decide when I was going to be happy. Was I going to invite him to the party? Hell no. Would he be there? Of course. Most girls would find a way to show off and prove exactly how much he had missed out upon, but I'm not a regular girl. I would go about as if nothing had happened, as if he and I were merely acquaintances. Nothing would change. I would prove just how much he had _not_ affected me.

**

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Alden **

After pretending to sleep for the past five hours, I decide it's completely pointless. I grab my bottle of gin, a carton of orange juice, a random Dave Bazan vinyl, and head to my studio. If I'm not going to sleep, I'm going to at least breathe and the only way to do that is to paint.

It's strange how much your life can swivel and topple in a matter of hours. But then, everything is measured in hours, days, weeks; time is measured in infinite degrees, but it all comes down to the present. Not the past and not the future. It is the choices that you make in this moment that make all of the difference. So, I am going to make this decision and stick to it. I am going to live it out in my future so that my past no longer dictates my future decisions.

I blast the canvas with cyan, sable, and slate. Letting my brushes bathe in water and drivel over the splattered page, mixing and blending the colors. Then with the smallest end of my brush, I dip into ebony and gold ink and write infinitely two words: "Forget me".

**

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Finley **

The next several hours went by easy and blurred, as it was Saturday, i.e. Finley's Day of Solitude. I had my morning (now evening) coffee, read the newspaper and then did my catch-up work in my classes. Eden popped in and out excitedly like a Chihuahua on speed. All systems were go and she could not be more proud of herself. Her beautiful face was practically wreathed in the light of her joy. "I don't want to be Veronica Lake. I want Grace Kelly!" She would exclaim. I would nod absently, not looking up from my book, and she would bounce from the room again.

After my relaxing evening, Eden and Brand came to the room to pick me up for lunch. As soon as we walked into the dining hall the room seemed to detonate. Everyone seemed to be elated at the chance for a party this huge and decadent that they could care less how ridiculous they acted at the prospect. Numerous girls hovered around me like tiny gnats, begging for invites. Eden would nod and wink at them and they would float away. Selene couldn't even bring herself to make snide remarks at the idea of me throwing a party _or_ my gray blazer, David Bowie t-shirt, and jeans. But because she couldn't be her usual snarky self, she said hardly anything, which I didn't disapprove. Lunch was surprisingly quiet in our tight grouped bubble. I ate my soup and beamed at the beauty that was this night of my control.

During one particular tranquil moment, Alden wandered into to the dining hall late and clumsy. He took one look at me and crumpled into a chair at the far end of the table. His face was worn and tired and his clothes were covered in paint. Brand bounded up from his normal spot on Eden's right and raced to clap Alden's shoulder. Aiden also made a b-line for his fallen friend and they began talking in rapid, whispered boy-speak and I continued to pay attention to whatever Loch had been saying for the past fifteen minutes. Lochlan had a way of carrying on that didn't require full attention from his listener. He was so incredibly self-involved that it didn't take much conversation contribution to keep him going. I think he was saying something about gangsters and history and his family and how that related to his "above average athleticism". I widened my eyes in mock interest as he continued.

My gaze shifted as I caught a flash of scarlet hair moving around the table. Blaise was gliding over to Alden, Brand, and Aiden, sashaying and swaying like a stripper. Eden's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly but then focused again upon her brother. Blaise cooed something to Brand and Alden and then hugged their faces into her chest. Classic fug-girl move. My body exploded with laughter. Predictably, the numerous residents of the lunch table's eyes were drawn to the sound like motion sensor lights.

"Oh!" Lochlan spoke first, jumping upon the chance to truly draw me into the conversation and assumed I found whatever he was saying humorous. "Which part did you find funny? The backfiring gun or the pocket deuces?"

Alden narrowed his eyes and smirked at Lochlan's idiocy. He said nothing but looked from Loch to myself, daring me to negate him.

"Actually," I paused and looked directly into Alden's face. "Neither."

Blaise was still holding Brand and Alden's faces to her chest, a statue of pitiful desperation.

Shoving back from the table, I stood, picked up my tray, and tucked my book under my arm. "I hope I'll see you guys tonight." I smiled at Eden and turned to leave, knowing that she was literally the _only_ friend I looked forward to seeing.

I heard several indiscriminate goodbyes and agreements as I dropped my tray into the discard slot. Several people asked if they could attend the party on my way out and I agreed to all without taking notice of names or faces.

The night blossomed around me as I greeted the midnight air. The party would be coming to fruition in just a few hours and the excitement was already wearing off in my own mind. The dresses should be waiting in my room. Just begging to be opened. But I couldn't drag myself up from beside this wall. I just wanted to sit here in the brisk night and let the breeze circle around me.

"Maybe you don't make friends because you are like not friendly at all." The warm voice teased my closed eyes, daring me to open them and take in his dashing face. But I didn't give in; I kept my eyes locked tightly. Alden didn't oblige me to ignore him, like a wave I felt his sunny presence beside me. His hand was on my cheek, turning it softly. "Hey." He spoke one word and just like it was the password to my attention my eyes burst open without my consent.

"Hey." I answered, staring into his deep chestnut eyes. He squinted at me as if he was trying to decipher some philosophical equation and then grinned.

And he found his solution—his lips met mine. We didn't speak; I didn't push him away from me like he was poisonous traitor to our friendship. He didn't open me up and pour me out like a guy just looking for a sexual trick. He was apologizing, begging me to forget who he was before this moment. He kissed me like an old movie, not sexy or aggressive or explicit, but sweet, gentle, and kind. And just as quickly as his lips had darted to mine, they were gone and he was walking away. He turned when he gotten to the path and with his hands in his pockets, like a five year old, he was all dimples as he added, "I wouldn't hate it if you kept being 'unfriendly'. That would mean I would have you to myself."

**

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Alden **

As I walked away I felt Finley click back into place. She was back and she had obliged to forget who I was, the person who would always leave. We were starting from here. I will be sticking to my decision and my future will reflect this present choice—and then my phone vibrated in my pocket, intervening into my thoughts. Would this be Finley inviting me to accompany her to the party? Doubtful. Eden with a favor? Maybe.

It was_ Thatcher_. I haven't spoken to him in months. What the hell was he doing calling me now? We are on decent terms but that is only due to the fact that we do not maintain steady contact. I rolled the phone in my palm, letting it ring to voicemail. Finally, the message popped up and I pressed one to listen.

"Hey man! I hope things are decent at the House. I got a call from Eden earlier—I know, weird—she asked me to come and bounce some party she was helping her friend throw tonight. I told her I could. I just wanted to call and see if you wanted to grab coffee ahead of time and we could catch up. If not, you know, it's cool. Either way, I'll see you tonight. Peace!"

The message ended and I let my phone slide from my ear. The early morning air whipped around me as my thoughts swirled into a tempest. There was one person in the world that was an actual match for me. I had won Finley back just to find another competitor, one who could actually be worthy of her, my _half brother_.


	8. Peace Before the Storm

_Okay, so I'm having a seriously good time writing this story and I hope you all are also. Let me know what you think of the current chapter. I've already got the next few planned out in my head it just takes time to sit down and write them. I hope you are liking where this is going as much as I am... _

_I cannot **wait **to get the party. It is going to be CRAZYYYYYYYYY._

_R.R, please!_

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**Erik POV**

Her face is same.

She is the constant of the person she had been twenty years ago.

The grin that had mocked me in my youth, beamed back at me from a face framed with raven hair and scarlet lips. Sapphire tattoos embellished her eyes, cheeks.

The variables surrounded me, magnifying the time spent apart, amplifying her beauty, intensifying my despair.

Her uniform mannerisms punctuated each sentence with a flourish and she reminded me of the life she had chosen.

_Without me._ My mind, soul, body, limbs, and every part of me screamed: '_Run away!'_ I stood, cemented to the floor at her mercy. As always.

I nodded along, responded politely, and simpered when necessary. I felt like I was playing Scrabble with six O's and one Q. She was holding the hand that would trump anything I could even pretend to possess. Just standing across from me, leaning cavalier against the mantle, Zoey held the scepter. I was still and would always be completely under her control and it was unequivocally emasculating.

Feebly, I finally offered, "My daughter Finley just enrolled at the Tulsa House. I think she wished to study under your son."

With a warm smile and a kind touch to my forearm, she replied, "Yes, I met her. She's beautiful! Of course she would be with the parents she has! Seriously, Erik, she looks identical to you. Same hair, eyes, expressions!"

I was able to erode a stiff smile with this and added, "Thank you. She—so far—has none of her mother's insanity. Which is a brilliant beacon of light for mine."

"You have always had a little crazy in you," She tautned.

"Isn't it rude to give disparaging answers to those you haven't seen in decades?"

Her laughter rebounded from the marble and buried into my chest, lighting aflame the elderly boyhood crush I had buried so deep. Zoey's fingers caressed my arm once more and kindled the blaze further. I tried to shake my head, let the embers crash and extinguish the fire, but she continued to warmly stroke my arm. Her words were echoes in my skull as I fought against her charms. I felt like a child—pushing against what had always been my weakness.

Biting my lip, I interrupted her mid sentence, "Zo, do you mind telling me when I will be needed for the ceremony? I need to head up to my room and call my daughter."

Her face was flushed and I could see the recognition resonating upon her visage. This is always how we had been. I can't fight against her and her insistent amount of affection for every other male in the vicinity. I am too selfish. I will always want her and only her and in return I _need _her to want me alone. I can't let myself sink entirely into her again.

Her mouth curved into an awkward smile and chagrin seeped into her cheeks. "I'll need you about 5:30 tomorrow, we should begin the ceremony at 6 sharp. Do you have something prepared?"

I nodded curtly and dove my hands into my pockets. "Yes. I hope Dante is acceptable."

She nodded once and released me to turn and exit.

As I turned, I caught Zoey's look of surprise flash across my line of sight. James Stark stood before me, leaning against the doorframe to the foyer with his arms crossed across his chest, one arrow squeezed between his knuckles. He had never loved her ability to embrace multiple men, he was no different than me, but he was much better had hiding it than I had been. Brilliant actor, deplorable man. Strange when you consider the profession I had chosen. Something about his sudden presence unnerved me, submerged the fire that Zoey had lit and transfigured it into boiling water. I was choking on ire and there was nothing to keep me from drowning on my own vehemence.

I focused my attention upon my clunking steps.

Fingers in pockets balled into fists.

Inside of cheek being ripped into shreds by my gritted teeth.

My mind was empty of all but one face that now was staring into my eyes, a glare of fury.

"I hope to see you tomorrow, Night."

I nodded.

I sensed nothing but crimson. Fury coloring my vision, blood filling my mouth.

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**Finley's POV**

I didn't walk back to my room. I glided, like one of those ridiculous Disney Princesses that my dad would _never_ let me be for Halloween. He always made me be something swashbuckling or history-related or with a light saber. For the first time in my life I actually understood the phrase… It was like I was floating on some sweet little cloud that had dropped down because it was jealous of my sense of peace. I was actually _sad_ to see the door to my dorm, knowing that then I would have to part with my floaty sensation and actually interact with non-love-drunk friends.

The door swung open and an entirely different cloud squashed my buzz. My room had been infiltrated by every type of stylist known to the E! Network. I couldn't help but bulge my eyes at the sheer amount of people that had fit inside of the room. Eden was buried under a large blond woman and a blue haired man who where performing some beautification ceremony on her already perfect exterior.

I knew there was little to no chance I could go completely unnoticed and hold onto my independence in this process. But I tried. If I thought crawling would have been as efficient as a cloak of invisibility I would have done it.

Weaving through the masses I heard a squeal and my heart sunk.

"Finley _Night!_ Hey guys! It's her! She's here!" Some striped skunk of a lady was holding waxing strips and waving them ridiculously in my direction—directing the entire room of vicarious media whores at their new toy.

I managed a half-hearted wave and turned immediately to head into my own bathroom. But no such luck. The room had erupted (and I seriously had no idea he wasn't already in eruption mode) as cosmetologists rushed to crush me with questions and adoration.

Different men and women were berating me with a flurry of questions like:

"Omg, who does your hair?"

"Have you touched Angelina's elbows? I hear they are like so smooth! I bet she uses silk soy butter!"

"How often do you wax?"

"Do you perm your hair with extrinsic formula or the standard chemical method?"

"Have you tried the mayonnaise cat cacao method for scalp retransformation?"

"Would your dad swing _my_ way?" This was said by some creepy elderly transvestite wearing what I could only assume was a throw-away Lady Gaga costume.

"Oh my goodness! If I could conjure up some spell to silence you all I would." My hands were in my hair as I tried to free myself from the grips of the crypt keepers of beauty. One of them reached out and sniffed the end of my shirt and at that point I had had enough. "You've got to be kidding! You have all got to get out of here!" I pause and let my words sink in. Eden is even covering her ear with one hand and holding the hand of one her trusty stylists with the other. "Seriously, go!" I shout one last time. Slowly they begin to file out and I exhale in relief. "Okay, even you Darth Breather." The man standing in front of me with a jerry curl gives me one last _humph_ of a resigned, super loud, breath and exists. Slowly and surely they all are out, save Eden's two head perfecto's.

"Sorry, Fin. I don't know how they all got in." She shot a look at her blue haired friend and he avoided her gaze by straightening his utensils.

I hold up my hands and fall to the bed. "It's cool. But I will be forced to Avada Kadavra any more who return."

Laughing, Eden snorts: "You are seriously the only person I know who would use that as a threat."

Rolling over to my side, I see Eden and her stylists swallowing giggles. "Yeah, well, I'm just that hard. I walk on the dark side, Eden Lafont, and even you Muggles better respect me." I hold up my fisted hand and fall back onto my back in exhaustion.

Eden laughed for another solid five minutes before shooing her hair and make-up people away. "Girl, you better start getting ready, we leave in like fifteen minutes."

"Sure, sure." I rally myself from my bed and walk to the bathroom where our dresses had been hanging. Mine was a silver silk and lace wrap mini-dress with beaded fringe decorating the sleeves and hem. I wrapped it around myself and pulled on my rear-seemed fishnets. Then I smoothed my raven curls down and made a bun at the nape of neck, allowing a few ringlets to fall around my face. I slid in a purple-feathered clip and stepped into my t-strapped heels. Finally, I put on some violently shaded red lipstick and stepped out of the bathroom.

"Good?" I ask, turning once for Eden to receive the full affect.

Her eyebrows were so high they were in her hairline. "You are magic. That was like lightening speed."

I smirked. "Need help getting into your dress?"

She grinned and pointed at her helpers. "My little elves got me there. I love the dress but it is like _so tight!"_

"It fits, though, right?"

"Of course!"

Then, she was up and behind her pink silk screen. I could see her stylists pulling and pushing at the dress and after a few minutes of what seemed like bodily torture, Eden stepped from behind the screen in a golden gown. She looked like an angelic princess, bathed in golden gems, lace, and taffeta. The sweetheart neck framed her chest and dripped down her body to her waist where the material sank into a lace and then back into taffeta around her hips where it belled out like a fin into a train of golden lace. Her hair was long and flowing down her shoulders with a flaxen headband around her forehead. Her cheeks were peach and her lips glossy and nude. I found myself searching for her wings as I stared at her golden angelic presence.

"Eden, you look beautiful!"

"Thanks! I feel like we almost coordinate!" She spun around once and linked arms with me softly.

Looking from her dress that was all glamour and beauty, to mine that was obviously more about comfort, I smiled at her and shook my head once. She thanked her stylists and we left our room and headed downstairs. Throughout the halls girls were bustling about, gawking at each other and snapping pictures.

"Eden you look stunning!" A girl cried.

"Finley, what a great dress!" Another cooed.

We smiled and walked quickly through the halls, thanking all of the fawning girls for their compliments. When we reached the foyer, I saw Brand and Lochlan haunting the doorway. Brand was in a white smoking jacket that seemed to shine against is dark skin and enhance his sky blue eyes. Lochlan was in an impossibly deep sapphire suit with a bold yellow bowtie and pocket square.

"Hey Blue," Eden breathed. She detached herself from me and melted against Brand.

Lochlan whistled and offered me his arm. "You look phenomenal. I didn't think you could possibly improve your general appearance… And you somehow managed."

Taking his arm, I felt my mind recoil. He must have assumed we would go together because Eden and Brand were together. There were so many reasons why I didn't want to be connected to Lochlan at this present time but none were stronger than my general gut reaction to him. Something about him triggered a visceral need to place space between us.

Begrudgingly, I allowed him to stroke a hair back from my cheek, as his fingers traced my skin I couldn't help but compare the heaviness of his fingers to the silky skin of Alden's hand. When Alden touched me it was gentle, sweet, but Loch was harsh and intrusive. We made our way to the bank in near silence. He would steal glances at me and smile his patented smile and I would wince but try to fake cheerfulness.

Arriving outside of the vault, I spotted two massive men in vaguely familiar uniforms. They were wearing black regalia with silver and ruby insignia around their shoulders. Their arms were crossed before them in a sign of clear power and authority. One was black with a shaved head and silver earrings and the other had buzzed sandy hair and a tan complexion.

Just as Lochlan tightened his grip on my hand, Eden launched herself at the sandy haired soldier.

"Oh my goodness! It's so good to see you! How long has it been? Like two years?" She bellowed, hugging and kissing his cheek with abandon.

Suddenly, his frightening warrior face transformed into a brilliant smiling boy. "E! Yeah. Two years! I'm finally done with training. Your call couldn't have come at a better time."

She stepped back from him, to take in the entire sight. "You look good. _Huge_ but good."

He let go of a generous chuckle and replied, "You've always had a verbose way about you. Eaten any thesauruses while I've been gone?"

She playfully rapped him on the arm and then seemed to remember herself and the rest of us. "Oh my gosh! What is my deal?" Turning to Brand, Loch, and I, she motioned us forward giving Brand a small, furtive smile.

Brand and Loch exchanged a rapid look and then rushed forward in a convincing show of friendliness.

Keeping a firm hold of my hand, Loch lavished fawning words on the bouncer. "Yo, man! It's so good to see you. We need to get together and talk training. See if it's as hellish as my dad makes it out to be!"

Brand shook his hand and smiled. "Where are you going to be stationined?" He asked with firmness in his jaw.

The warrior beamed at them and crossed his arms across his chest. "I've decided to stick around here. You know, pledge to my mom."

Loch and Brand grimaced and Eden clapped her hands together in exuberance.

"Oh that's so sweet!" She simpered.

I stood plank straight glancing between the group and my hand that was inextricable from Lochlan's.

"Now wait a second." The soldier had removed his attention from the others and was now focusing his piercing green eyes upon me. I felt myself shrink under his gaze. "I know all of these kids, but I don't know you." He smiled and reached out to shake my hand.

"You are only a few years older than us!" Exclaimed Eden, smiling lovingly at him.

"I'm Finley." I respond and shake his hand with my free one.

Lochlan interjected, throwing his arm about my shoulders and pulling me into a harsh embrace. "She's my new _friend_. The party was her idea." He squeezed me and released another sunny grin.

The soldier guffawed and slapped his brawny hand across his forehead. "So you're Finley Night! E, why didn't you tell me your roommate was a _Night!"_

I couldn't suppress my confusion. I know I am relatively famous, in the 'oh, look she's never in the press but her dad is famous' sort of way, but if this guy had been in training for two years I wouldn't necessarily be at the top of his celebrity-to-watch-for list. I tried to keep a friendly smile on my face as Lochlan squeezed my shoulders and this new guy stared at me incredulously.

He shook his head again and finally alleviated my confusion. _"I'm Thatcher. Zoey Redbird is my mom."_

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Let the baby-daddy guessing game begin!_


	9. Coup de Grace

**_Okay, this is the longest chapter yet. I hope that's okay with you guys. It offers more of the back story to Thatcher. I am already writing next chapter so please tell me what you think. The next one continues ratcheting things up with more and more tension. I hope you like it. Please review if you don't!_**

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**Thatcher POV**

As the group shuffled into the vault I couldn't help but let my thoughts trace her footsteps inside. She swayed there, a stark contrast to Eden, in a silver dress—intricate yet effortless—a captive to the Alden/Lochlan war games. I could already see it. It was obvious in the way that he had stated his claim on her with the mere sight of me. He might as well of marked his territory like a common mutt. I would give Alden ten minutes to do the same, but in a less conspicuous way—I'll give him that much. Alden was smarter but no different than his golden companion.

It had been a breath of fresh air getting away from the House. I was finally far from the drama and intrigue of being the son of the High Priestess. I was no Alden; no, he was the golden child from the platinum warrior. I was just the son of a consort… No one of consequence. No one of consequence to anyone but me. He was my _father_, why did no one see that _that_ was important to me? But it didn't matter. It's all over now and I have proven myself. I had to work for absolutely everything and I have succeeded. I think this success is what has caused the rift between Alden and me. He knows that I am better for it... better than he will ever be. When he was out simpering and sashaying for the fans, I was laboring for approval. I learned how things work. I had known that someday I would be more than just the child of a consort, but a conqueror. My brother and I were like tungsten and titanium. Although both metals are strong, made from the fiercest elements to create gargantuan strength, one is heated heaviest and worked within a breath of its strength making it strongest. Although titanium is pleasing and hardwearing, it is not impregnable like tungsten.

The day I was Marked was bittersweet. While my mother was a picture of pride, her chosen family was clouded with dismay. I could see it in the tightening of Stark's eyes as he gripped his son's shoulder. He knew that I was different from his son—I understood what it meant to work. The Change wasn't like life in the upper echelons of the Tulsa Vampyre Society. You had to be strong to endure it and I could. I never feared that my body would reject the Change. And I was right. I changed within a year of being Marked. It was one of the fastest Changes the Tulsa House of Night had ever seen. Suddenly, I was acknowledged as more than just a son of a consort but as Thatcher Redbird. Again, my mother was joyous and I was content. I had been easily accepted into the Sons of Erebus and left without a second glance. It was easy to leave the Tulsa House behind, I needed to prove myself—it was second nature. Eden had been devastated. We had begun dating shortly after I was Marked but I knew it would never last. She wasn't anything more than a porcelain doll—sweet, frail and to be kept on the corner of a desk to please everyone, not to live a life of labor. She was just an echo of a child's distraction, but it was time to grow up and take on things with durability.

Never did I think I would find myself back here in the midst of all of the drama and society. I dreaded seeing Eden; I had feared she still felt this way. Brand was better for her that was obvious. I made a mental note to avoid her for her own sake. This would be difficult seeing as I was inextricably attracted to her roommate. Finley was so different, strange, and yet somehow familiar. I found myself coming up with conversation starters as I oversaw the different guests arriving at the party. I would wonder what types of things she would find interesting to discuss and then suddenly my attention would be drawn to some security issue that I had caught in the corner of my vision. It was always nothing, which annoyed me more than if it had been an actual threat.

"Close the doors in five minutes and then continue vigilance inside." I command to my officer. He nodded and I returned my distracted eyes to the early morning sky.

Scanning the horizon, my eyes blur as I recognize Alden's lazy stride lolling toward me. His silver suit flashed in the crisp daybreak air and he smile was tight. "Morning, Thatcher."

I nod and smile. "You're strolling up just in time. I'm supposed to close shop in a few minutes."

He doesn't attempt to hold conjure his easy grin. "I was waiting on someone." He hooked his thumb over his shoulder and pointed.

As if cued, Selene slinked around the corner in a red sequined dress and purple gloves. "Well, I'll be!" She vamped and stopped before me. Her hair was pushed over one eye so that only half of her face was visible. "It's Rhett Butler! Are we back to prey on poor Scarlett? Just as she's gotten over you and under someone new!"

"And what are you supposed to be? Jessica Rabbit?" I scratch the side of my neck as I try to push the embarrassment back down into my chest. If there was anyone who knew how badly Eden had taken our break-up, it would have been Selene. As much as the two were frienemies, they were close.

"As a matter of fact, I am." With a coy look over her shoulder, she ran her gloved hand over Alden's chest in a come-hither motion.

He rolled his eyes. "I hate to be the nay-sayer, but Scarlett never wanted Rhett. She was always after Ashley. So your whole analogy makes absolutely no sense." He grinned at Selene's dismay. "No offense." Smirking at me, he shoved her into the vault.

I caught his arm just before he was in the door. "Thanks man."

He grimaced and nodded wordlessly.

With that I gave the signal and the vault was locked.

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**Finley POV**

Walking into the vault was surreal. It was all black granite and glass, which reflected off every surface giving the massive room an even more infinite feel. The walls were vaulted and high with long strung candelabras and hanging dilapidated chandeliers. The party seemed dipped in gilded age decadence. It was like we had stumbled into a different time and the only holding onto us was the ambience that suffocated the room. Poker, Black Jack and Roulette tables littered the room and were surrounded by endless amounts of doors leading off into private, silk strewn rooms, portals to secret lust. Girls with pillbox hats carried trays of food, drinks, cigars, and keys to the secret rooms throughout the party guests. At the far end of the room a stage grew out of the glass and red velvet. A band played drunkenly behind a sultry lounge singer who lay atop a red piano bellowing old songs by the Greats.

I stood looking down upon the party in awe. Eden had arranged a private balcony for our group to enjoy the party. We were to enjoy the party behind a pane of glass, perceived, lusted for, but never touched. A high stakes poker game was set up and ready to be played when the rest of our group arrived. I had managed to shake off Lochlan after a few mighty and resourceful tactics. He was now pestering a waitress in a corner that he thought I couldn't see. I hoped that whatever he had planned for her would take more than fifteen minutes… but I seriously doubted it.

"Well, what do you think?" Eden asked after she had scurried up to me, nudging my shoulder with hers and gazing at her masterpiece below.

"Quite impressive, Eden Lafont."

She giggled and threw her arms out in front of her, as if to embrace the entire party in one movement.

"So, are you ready to answer some questions for me?" I asked, giving her the best reticent simper I could muster.

Her face pinched. "It depends on what questions you are posing."

"I would love to hear whatever Thatcher story you are so terribly trying to hide. By the way, it's like so not working."

Slowly relaxing, she pulled a chair from the table and collapsed into it. She looked around once, for Brand I assumed, and then whispered: "We used to date. I'm guessing it was obvious?"

I rolled my eyes. "Um, yeah."

She slapped her hand over her forehead. "Well then it's probably also obvious I am not quite over it yet… I'm such an idiot. I hope Brand isn't super pissed. It's just the first time I've seen him since he left."

I pulled a chair beside Eden's and raised, "Where did he go?"

"Sons of Erebus training. We broke up when he left… I was pretty _upset_ for a while. I mean, he was my first love. He was older, mysterious, someone my mom _loathed. _ What's not to love?" She bit her lip and looked up into my eyes. For the first time she didn't look like a statuesque goddess walking among mere humans, but a normal teenage girl, pining after some football player. "I love Brand. I do. But Thatcher was my first everything. It's just hard when he pops back up and you have to relearn how to act in front of everybody with all of this going on at the same time. You know?"

I brush her arm with my fingers and squeeze gently. "I don't know. " I respond with a smile. "But I'll try to understand and help. If I can at all."

"You've never been in love?"

Embarrassed, my eyes fall as if magnetized to my shoes. "No. Unless you count a third grade obsession with Eric from _The Little Mermaid_." With a grunt of laughter I look back up. "Then, I realized his name was the same as my dad's and it made me uncomfortable."

Eden boomed with hysterics and as if stirred, returned to her old self. "You're great, you know?" She added with a hair flip.

I shoved her shoulder and stood up. "Oh, please. Now you don't start having a crush on me. It'll really put a damper on my morning routine."

She stood in a flourish and eye rolling, with one more flick of hair she had made her way over to Brand.

Glancing around the room, I saw the Maslin-Twist sisters leaning fully over the bar flirting with the bartenders. They were both wearing black lingerie with long silky robes. I chortled and kept scanning the balcony. As if obligatory, Aiden was making out with a waitress in the corner and Lochlan was nowhere to be found—presumably doing the same. As my eyes reached the arch of the stairs, Alden and Selene entered in a dramatic display of arrogance. Selene, who was obviously dressed as Jessica Rabbit (ew), entered and bellowed, "Alright, let's get this party started!" If I had anyone within earshot, I would have taken the time to do the obvious mocking of this statement. And Alden, in his silver suit and skinny tie, hands in pockets, the image of lackadaisical exclusivity, sauntered in smirking at his boys in dark corners—obviously, a proud mentor to debauchery.

I couldn't help the disdainful look that resulted. It's who I am. Whatever I am thinking is written into my features. So, I turned and faced the party, begging the band to play one of my soothing folk songs.

"Does my arrival displease the guest of honor?" Alden's voice wafted from my shoulder and I could feel his breath upon my neck.

Shivering, I shook him off. "You should know that anyone who comes too close to my ears is in direct violation of my number one law, which states plainly, " I turned to face him. His face was beaming within inches of mine—a divergence from my dark glower. "'Those who whisper, breathe, and/or just stand too closely to my ears will be gleefully pummeled.'" I twisted my straight-lipped smile into a glower and turned back to the party.

His face was washed in amusement as he shoved his hands back into his pockets. "I have never been gleefully pummeled nor have I ever had someone state their own personal written laws to me before. Especially pertaining to ear proximity."

"My laws aren't written," I interjected without looking up.

"Ah, oral laws are tricky minxes. Always subject to change. You should check into that." He grinned at me again from over my shoulder and chuckled.

"Not going to change. My ears are very sensitive. I don't like people to get too close—it gives me the creeps." I could feel the goose bumps rising on my neck as his words danced across my flesh.

"_Or_ possibly you just have creeps who are getting to close."

I turn and shoot him a look like a dagger. "Perhaps." Pushing off the edge of the balcony, I take my seat at the poker table. I could hear him chuckling as he tried to take a seat next to me. Like a faithful dog, Loch slid directly in the chair beside me. For the first time I was thankful for his brilliant ignorance—I could have rubbed his belly or patted his ears. Alden thought he could stumble into the party after a romp with the disgusting House of Night Jessica Simpson knock-off and then post-up beside me. Little did he know, I was not and would never be the second course. Why did I constantly allow him to make a fool of me? I shook my head to rid myself of my vehemence for Alden Redbird as the rest of the group shuffled in around the table.

The dealer began stating the rules and I caught Alden sidling into a spot at the top of the table, directly across from me. "Welcome to the high stakes Texas Hold 'Em tournament." I caught Alden's eye and he looked at me in utter confusion. I ignored him. "The buy in is a minimum of two thousand dollars," Alden's dark hair was beginning to be ruffled as he ran his fingers through it in bewilderment. "And the blinds are set at fifty and one hundred." Alden lifted his eyebrows in frustration. He shook his head and mouthed words to me, but I turned to Loch and smiled ruefully.

"I don't know how to play this game." Blaise's voice carried from across the table as she addressed Alden. She rubbed her robed shoulder against his in a vain attempt to get his attention.

"Then don't play." Was his response as he continued to stare holes into my reddening face.

She _humphed_ and stared at her cards in a huff.

After vain attempts to suppress a smile, I realized Lochlan had been trying to address me for a few minutes. "I hope I don't have to take all your money this evening." He drawled, tapping his cards on the table incessantly.

With a face of condescending temper, I forced a smirk. "Me too."

"Got room for another?" A voice called from the entrance. Predictably, the entire table turned to gaze at the latecomer. Thatcher stood in the door, smirking like a young boy who had just found his long lost comic book.

"Of course," I called and motioned the empty chair on the end beside me.

"I thought he was supposed to be watching the secur—" Loch began.

"He's fine." I interjected and motioned for him to enter.

And just like that, the next chapter began. As lightly as a page turns and a chapter ends and another begins, so goes life. Inaugurating a new episode with one juncture and terminating another. So quiet was the coup de grace that even he did not realize the deathblow until it was upon him.

* * *

**Alden POV**

There was literally no way to not look at them. I must be developing a new skill of prophesying… because I had seen this as clear as if I had been staring at the future through clear water. Finley and Thatcher were perched at the edge of the table with the air of the birth of a new friendship. If had been merely a friendship I wouldn't feel like I was careening dangerously unbridled on a hillside road. I _knew._ I've known it since I was young. Some day I would settle all of my debts with Thatcher. But why was this… was _she_ the interest payment?

"Dude, where's your head at? You haven't won three hands! You haven't played two." Aiden shook my shoulder and beckoned for a waitress. "You hungry?"

"No." I replied and ripped my eyes from Fin's laughing face. She had only laughed like that with me once.

The dealer dealt again. Ace, King. I was big blind.

I watched everyone check around the table and it forced my eyes to roam over to her again. Her face was serene, impassive as she studied her cards and she bet. She licked her lips and then, setting her cards down, turned back to Thatcher. "You plan on actually joining this game after I managed to get you in?" Her easy humor with him was practically torture.

He flashed a brilliant smile and doubled her bet. "I'm a man of action, Finley Night."

She bolstered his humor with a brilliant laugh. And the knives tore the flesh around my ribcage, seeking my heart.

It was back to me. I matched him and then continued to stare at the wall above the dealer, listening to their conversation while everyone either folded or matched the bets.

"You can't possibly be raising. Who have you turned into between the last two hands? Some one with actual _balls_?" Finley's voice was saturated with laughter. The knives still sought their prey with maniac fury.

Matching the sentiment, Thatcher replied, "I'm sorry. I thought I was going to be sitting beside a lady when I sat down."

"Well, by all means," Then, like someone turned down the volume on a radio, "move seats down between the Maslin-Twist sisters."

"I think you need to reevaluate your definition of 'lady'. I thought you were the one who was good with words."

Her laughter exploded. The knives hit home and all was lost.

I blinked through the pain. It was back to me. Time to bet, two kings were on the table, making my hand almost unbeatable. I raised only slightly, as if I cared. The rest of the table folded save Finley and Thatcher.

"What do you think he has?" She whispered to Thatcher. Her eyes studied me but my expression never moved. I was a broken man and with a splintered spirit comes a coma, a numbness.

"My guess? Pocket sixes." He responded confidently.

She rolled her eyes and looked at her hand then the cards across the table. "I'll bet he has Kings. I'm folding." She tossed her cards and eyed my vacant expression. "I've taken enough money to suffer some loss on this one." And it was true; she had won most of the hands of the night. It would have been impressive if I had actually been playing. Loch was playing his usual predictably aggressive game. Brand was distracted with Eden who was distracted with Thatcher. Blaise had went all-in a few hands ago against Finley and was now perched on the bar. Her sister didn't wish to play without her so she quit. Aiden and Selene had each won a few, but were mainly sitting quietly. Thatcher had won only two hands, it seemed he was here for the company rather than the sport. And that left me, completely preoccupied with misery.

Thatcher eyed me and smiled, no, grinned in the most unnerving way. "I'll match him." He tossed in his chips and folded his cards. "Trip Kings, queen."

Without even a twitch in my cheek, I turned my cards. "Trip kings, Ace high."

"And the Ace high has it." Echoed the dealer.

Without a second glance, Thatcher turned back to Finley. "You were right. But you didn't know that he had an Ace." He tapped her temple. "Not so psychic."

I had had enough; I was up from the table in a start, holding my chest to try to impede the flow of blood from my shredded heart.

The dealer, trying to read my actions, dithered for a moment then exclaimed: "Fifteen minute rest, then we resume with doubled blinds."

I needed a drink. Nay, I needed a bottle and an IV. "Single malt, double."

"Man, what is up with you tonight?" Aiden murmured from my left. "Same." He ordered.

"Thanks," I accepted the drinks. Then added, "Go ahead and leave the bottle, if you don't mind."

"Man!" Exclaimed Aiden again. His face was stretched in a juxtaposition of irritation and concern.

"What?"

He rolled his eyes and rubbed his hand over his head roughly.

I drained my cup and poured myself another. "Nothing is up. I'm just playing the game."

"_Obviously_." He answered in a way that made it sound like he meant more than poker.

"So what, are you my counselor now? Would you like to know what exactly I am feeling at this very moment?"

"No, but I am your friend. Even though you are a total ass."

I drained the second glass and shrugged. Stumbling back to the table, I resumed my seat. Finley and Thatcher had walked together to the bar and I could no longer eavesdrop… the silence of their storm of conversation seemed to lull me further into my welcome coma.

"Hitting it off, aren't they." Murmured Eden, hunching into the chair beside mine.

"Apparently."

She grasped my glass and sipped.

I twisted the top off of the bottle and refilled the glass for her. Turning to a waitress, I took an empty class and poured myself a generous amount.

"Just friendly?" She asked.

"Sure." I answered noncommittally.

"Yeah, I didn't think so either." She handed the empty glass back to me and returned to her seat with hardness in her eyes.

Suddenly, fire flashed across my sight. Red lights had caught the mirrors behind the bar and soaked all of the attention of the party down to the stage below. I followed the eyes of the onlookers below and found Finely standing sheepishly in front of the band. She had borrowed a guitar from one of the band members and walked them slowly into a tune I knew well. I closed my eyes and let the guitar plucking quell my heart's wounds and pretended it was a different time. I traveled back to when Finley and I had been Moonshine and Sundance. Remembering how easy we had laid there listening to this song on repeat… and now she was sharing it with Thatcher. She smiled and pointed up to the balcony where he swayed holding a face that I knew well. It was a face that I had only for Finley.

* * *

**_Okay, I know I am going to have some angry people, but give it time. It'll all work out!_**


	10. Moving Pictures

**Alright, alright! I finally finished this chapter. It was super long so I split it.... So guess what? That means the next chapter should be up in a couple of days. **

**I hope you guys enjoy it.**

**

* * *

Stark**

I watched Erik's lolling body wander off and I could see the tension he held within the cage of his shoulders. His tailored designer jacket was merely a charcoal outline of the stress that this meeting had brought him. _Fantastic_, I thought.

"James Stark, what is the matter with you?" I could sense her fire, it permeated the air, but I paid it no attention.

"Ready to head up to the room?" I asked, sliding my arrow back into its quiver lithely and turning to face her for the first time.

Her tattooed arms were folded across her heaving chest and her face was a mess of exasperation. "Yes, because in our room there won't be any witnesses to the huge fight we are about to have." Zoey spread her arms wide and I could feel the air prickle with fury.

I shrugged and motioned to the door. "Well, shall we?" Following her angry footsteps out of the foyer, we walked like ghosts past the concierge. The journey to the room was quick yet still a nest of barbed silence. When we opened the door to our room, I had to recheck the number to be sure we hadn't been so preoccupied with anger to land on the wrong floor.

The concierge had worked quickly and efficiently. The room was a mass of the deepest purple peonies, tiny white candles, chocolates, and numerous bottles of champagne. It was the Honeymoon paradise I had ordered, down to the last detail.

Zoey spun around like a top to face me. "What the hell, Stark?"

"Well, before I interrupted your little rendezvous with Erik Night, I had planned a special evening for us." I spewed. Tossing my bow and arrows onto an unwitting pile of flowers, refusing to regard Zoey at all. They puffed and scattered as if aroused rudely from a daydream.

I stared over Zoey's painted shoulder out the open balcony door, distracted momentarily from the room of tension by the serene view. The curtains seemed to breathe in the breeze, allowing the moonlight to dance around the room like a welcome guest, coloring everything more deeply with the slightest tender touch. "It is almost magical here… isn't it?" I turned back to her and exhaled.

Her face softened and a slight curve tipped the end of her lips. "You planned all this for me?"

I merely grinned.

Zoey reached a quick hand to pat my arm once and then dropped it in an almost embarrassed gesture. "Thanks." She added, unabashed.

I mocked her rapid movement and tossed in a 'you're welcome.' She giggled and in an outburst of movement, she launched herself into my arms, sending us toppling back on the bed of peonies and candles.

"Watch the candles!" She cried as my back burned with fever and then with a breath from Zoe the fire was gone.

"It's good to have you around when my romantic escapes result in accidental arson." I elbowed the quiver to the floor and ripped my shirt off in one motion.

And just as I felt like I had been witnessing the rebirth of my seventeen-year-old nightmare, I was now frolicking in a seventeen-year-old daydream. We rolled around in the ideal fantasy for hours, flower petals and chocolate joining the sweat of our bodies.

* * *

**Finley**

What the hell was I doing down here? Did I have some outrageous wish to lull the party to sleep with one of Sam Beam's classic ballads? I rolled my eyes and tossed the guitar strap over my shoulder, thinking of the reason I had allowed myself to be talked into this ridiculous display.

"Man, I would absolutely die if they played some Blink 182 right about now!" Thatcher bellowed over the crowded bar.

My face whipped around in a whiplash-inducing movement. "I hope you mean you would either a. assassinate someone for playing that band or b. hire Dr. Kevorkian for some rescue euthanasia."

His goodhearted chuckle was beginning to be his usual reaction. "Well, obviously, I'm not going to win with this conversation." He took a long drink of his beer.

"You were being serious, weren't you?" I asked, wide-eyed.

"I'm always serious."

"Apparently." I set my glass down and eyed him overtly. "Favorite bands, go."

His handsome face lifted and he thrust his head back like he had been shoved. "Just like that?"

I nodded, resting my head on my hand and waiting with a sweet smile.

His head was still shoved back but a grin slowly melted through his rebuffed face. "Don't stone me." He added and made a show of glancing at me before making his list. "Blink 182…"

"Please don't say U2."

"U2."

"Impale me."

"Blue October."

"I'm choking on my own bile."

"Taylor Swift."

Immediately, I stopped fake vomiting to stare him down. "I'm literally suffocating on my words of dismay."

"Just seeing if you were paying attention." He spat, shaking with laughter.

"Those are pretty much the favorites."

"I thought we had friendship compatibility…" I drained my glass in a flourish of defeat and sat it upside down on the bar.

"You're always welcome to supplement my iTunes. I've been in training for years, I haven't had time to peruse iTunes for the latest world-saving tracks."

"Supplement? Nah, you need a complete overhaul."

"Okay, rude. What's your favorite band?"

"Iron & Wine. Easy."

"What? Who are they?"

"I'm out of synonyms for death. Hold on, I'll be right back."

I make a movement to get up but he impedes my escape. "All right. Why don't you just sing me something of theirs?"

"Right here? Without accompaniment? No." I shake my head vigorously and order a refill.

"What? _Finley_ "I have huge balls" Night won't sing me something without 'accompaniment'?" His fingers wagged in the air as he mocked me. He hooked his chin down to the stage. "They've got instruments. Oh, I'm sorry '_accompaniment._'"

That is how I came to be standing before this confused, slightly drunk crowd, playing a slow song in which they kindly swayed. I let my eyes scan the balcony and none shown brighter than Thatcher's boppy beaming face. Although Thatcher's smile held something so unnervingly familiar to Alden, his personality was so distinctly uncommon. He was like a glass window, translucent and functional. So simple, what he said he meant and how he acted was not convoluted in some double meaning that I would have to translate. He was such a welcome surprise. Smiling up at him I continued to play and be thankful for his new friendship.

My eyes continued to wander and they landed solely on Alden's paralyzed face. He was like a shell, hollowed and completely immobile. His overt sadness unnerved me for a few moments and my song suffered several sour notes. Then towards the end of the last course I realized the truth behind his gloom: defeat. He had set out to master the new girl and I had played right into his ploy, but in the end I hadn't given in. I was probably the first. Of course he was depressed, he was being made to look like a fool in front of his protégés. I finished the last chord in a vigorous flash of fingers and bowed to the audience and band.

"That was sick!" Thatcher roared from the top of the stairs.

I laughed and gestured his compliments away.

As I reached the top of the stairs he whipped me up in a bear hug and spun me around the room. I giggled for a few moments until his light touch suddenly turned sour and heavy. Then, I grasped his arm to a pinch and begged him to put me down. The rest of the poker table stared in bemusement at the affectionate greeting Thatcher smothered over me. "Blinds doubled?" I asked as I slithered into my seat.

"Yes," answered the dealer.

The table had dwindled; the only remaining players were Thatcher—by a thread, Alden, and myself. After the break most players had begun losing regularly to Alden. I had no idea what had brought on the change in consciousness, but apparently, he was in fact alive. He still sat emotionless across the table, hardly seeming to pay attention, but his winnings showed his alertness. His ear was turned to me and fingers tapped the table as if he was peeved to be playing.

I won a hand, he won a hand. Never did he force me in or actually call upon my poker skills, he folded when it became sticky or I folded in turn. The game was dead center, and boring. Alden finally took out Thatcher in one hand leaving us with even pots and it was apparent, we were going to be here for hours.

"Alright, Redbird, I'd love to sit here and continue this game of high card with you but I'd actually like to play _poker_ now." I spat across the table. Thatcher now stood behind me, urging me on like a soccer-mom on speed. He had invented little encouraging comments taken from cheers and made poker-y. I mainly ignored him.

Loch hovered on the other side of me and took the opposite approach. He would murmur dirty comments in my ears between the rah-rahs and I would elbow him in the groin with relish.

Alden's corresponding stare was as heavy as steel. He looked once at his cards, and then shoved his entire pot into the center of the table. "Alright, Night. Let's see those balls you've been playing with all night."

After my annoying, self-righteous speech, I wasn't going to just let him bully me into a bad hand, but I also was a hothead and I wasn't going to let him bully me out of a good hand either. My cards had the greatest potential; I was disgustingly close to a Royal Flush… But I didn't have it yet. One card was about to be slapped onto the table and if it were my night then it would be that lucky number ten of hearts. Without a breath, I shoved my chips to the center of the table where they merged with Alden's.

Loch inhaled harshly and ran around the table snapping his fingers. "Oh no she didn't!"

Thatcher rubbed my shoulders and whispered encouragement to me that I didn't hear. I was staring fiery holes into the cards laid out before me: king of hearts, seven of clubs, jack of hearts. Squeezed between my index finger and thumb were the ace and queen of hearts. If the next two cards contained the very, very unlikely ten of hearts I would have _the _unbeatable hand. I have never possessed such a win and my hands shook at the prospect. Alden leaned back in his chair lackadaisically, and tossed his cards across the table, they hopped and skipped to a halt below the line of cards revealing a king of spades and jack of diamonds—two pair. As my shaking hands flipped over my cards, the room saw that he had me completely cornered and the only thing that could liberate me was the capstone to my Royal Flush.

The next sequence of events happened like the turning pages of a comic flipbook.

I stood up and gripped the edge of the table sweaty fingers.

Alden leaned forward and sat his head lazily upon his upturned palm.

The dealer nodded and turned over one card.

Jack of spades.

My elbows gave out for a moment.

I tripped forward, collapsing to the floor.

Thatcher swooped in like a rescue eagle and caught me in his powerfully built arms.

My eyes flickered to Alden's emerald eyes.

He watched me with unflinching care.

The dealer lifted the last card and like a slow moving film, he flipped it over onto the table.

Dust billowed up around the card and then settled in a shower of sparks.

Ten of hearts.

The world around me hurtled down to the floor and my feet swung above their faces, careening to the ceiling.

I was flying! Soaring through the room on a cloud of elation. What a feeling! There is nothing to compare to the absolute ecstasy of a win such as that. The blurred faces around me whirled and pirouetted before me until one face edged its way in front of the rest and interrupted my euphoria. Alden's features were washed in a calm sadness, a resigned look rested in the curve of his mouth.

Suddenly, I questioned how and why I was flying. Awaking to myself, I realized that Thatcher was spinning me around the room like a child in his burly arms. He laughed and kissed my cheek in excitement. I hugged him once and commanded him to put me down. With Alden's face still in view, I declared drinks on me and the flood of onlookers rushed like streams of water past me. None moved me but Alden's expression. We stood facing each other like two unmoving boulders in a mighty river. After everything, I still wanted to move closer to him, but the river kept us separated by our differences. Yet we were the same, two stones fighting the current in our own way, choosing different tactics but struggling the same.

"That was a fantastic win!" Screamed Aiden over the roar of the crowded bar.

I forced myself to look away from Alden's frown and over to Aiden's dark beaming cheeks. "Yeah, I can't believe I actually pulled it off. Lucky."

He smiled and shook my hand. "No one has ever beat Alden. That I can remember, at least."

"Like I said," I turned my head to face Alden. "Lucky." But he had disappeared down the stairs. With that I walked to the bar and kept my promise.

* * *

**Alden**

It was a delightful goodbye. Touching, yet unsatisfying. That's how parting is supposed to be, right? The best ones always leave you dreaming for more; otherwise it wouldn't be a goodbye but a see you later. I commanded myself to shut up because I was being lame.

I stumbled down the stairs after she had allowed me out of her polarizing gaze. With whiskey in hand, I wandered through the main room searching for an open room along the edge of the vault. I staggered into the first one that stood out to me and crumbled onto a crimson silk wing backed chair. I was breathing like I had just ran a marathon and the welcome respite from the search was soothing. Across the room was a table laden with crab cakes, sushi, and other finger foods, I hoped whomever was to eat the food wouldn't be entering soon— the silence was calming. I stared at the food until my vision blurred and I was forced to blink.

Abruptly, I realized I wasn't alone. There was a body lying across the gold couch a few feet from me. The candlelight hadn't allowed me to see the person until I was sitting in such close proximity. As my eyes adjusted to the low candlelight, I perceived the sob-shaking body. Quietly as I could manage, in my current condition, I stood to leave the occupied room.

"Don't leave," the girl cried softly.

I looked about me confused and continued to edge closer to the door. "Um, what?"

"Alden, don't leave." Eden sat up and wiped away her tears only for more to pour over her cheeks to take their empty place.

"E, what are you doing down here?" I moved to sit beside her on the couch and offered her my handkerchief.

"Thanks," she murmured as she accepted the cloth and dabbed her face. "I just couldn't take it any more."

I nodded but said nothing.

"I hate it, Alden. _All of it._ I hate seeing him. I hate still loving him. I hate that I can't make myself stop. I hate that Brand's eyes are all hard and mean because he sees it. I hate that I can't hide it. I can't turn it off, Alden! I hate that of all people he chooses _her_, the only person that I have felt like myself with in the longest time…" She wept into my shoulder without finishing. I patted her back awkwardly and remained silent. "How are you doing it?"

"Doing what?"

Eden lifted her face from my shoulder and stared into my eyes. "Acting. Where is this mask coming from? I see how you look at her when others aren't paying attention."

I half-smiled. "Practice, I guess."

"But you've never liked anyone like her before."

"True."

She cocked her head to the side. "How do you feel? You know, when you see them?"

I exhaled and ran my fingers through my hair. "Well, at first it felt like someone had sent some vigilante knives on a search and destroy mission in my body."

Eden hiccupped.

"After they succeeded their mission I was just numb. I kind of feel like I am a dead man walking through a fog with his old life swirling about him."

"That sounds awful."

I shrugged. Eden's hair was a mess and stuck in her lip-gloss, so I leaned forward and brushed the strand from her mouth. Her lips puckered and she sucked in a rapid breath, making her chest rise and fall.

Eden leaned her face forward and held out the handkerchief to me. "Only a guy like you could carry one of these," She whispered.

I backed up to the edge of the couch and muttered that she should just keep it.

She took my hands in hers and shoved the cloth inside of my knuckles. Instantly, without a word or a hint of hesitation, she sloped her body towards mine and kissed me softly on the cheek. As she steadily pulled back her gaze twitched between my eyes to my mouth.

And her lips were upon mine, hard and sad, opening my mouth to share her sadness, frustration, and need. She was looking for a solution, an antidote for this poison and I was there, allowing her to search in a place that was a self-proclaimed barren wasteland.

There were no words just arms, fingers, hands, lips, and hair. A fever brewed between us adding to our sickness. I was lifting her dress and she was fumbling with my belt when the door swung open and a procession of dark faces paraded before me. I tumbled from the couch and one face underlined the climate change in the room. I was finally awake from my coma and I wished I were dead.

The room exploded.

Eden was screaming and Brand was throwing chairs across the room.

Loch was running at me baring fists and Finley had impeded his assault. She spoke in colorless tones and ordered him from the room.

Selene's face was a terror and she faded out the door.

Aiden shook his head and rushed after Selene.

Finley pointed to Brand and Thatcher responded to her wordless command and escorted him from the room forcefully. Blaise and Hypatia giggled and followed in Brand's fiery wake.

Finley straightened up and faced Eden and I with frigid eyes. "Thatcher, will you call a cab for Eden? She needs to get out of here quickly. Eden," She turned her icy face to Eden specifically. "Don't try to talk to Brand tonight. There's nothing you can do right now. He needs to be angry before he can forgive you. I'll let you have the room to yourself tonight." Thatcher walked in and picked Eden up by the elbows and walked her out.

Finley turned an indifferent stare upon me and I felt my blood turn into an icy river within my veins. "_You_ need to fix this. I hope you are willing to take some punches, because I'm sure they're coming you way. You need to talk to Brand tonight, explain to him what happened and apologize. You do know what contrition means don't you?"

I was up on my feet, barreling at her, seeking her hands, legs, something to hold onto, to show my sorrow. "Finley, I'm so sor—"

She looked at my outstretched hands as if they were vipers and cut across me: "Please! Don't apologize to me for something that you aren't sorry for."

I withdrew my sweating palms and breathed, "I am sorry."

Finley's face was in a rage. She spread her arms wide and spewed, "What are you sorry for? Having sex with a friend's sister? Hooking up with a girl who's obviously vulnerable? Taking advantage of a best friend's girlfriend? _Fucking_ your brother's ex? Which one? All seem in character to me."

I fell to my knees. How could I possibly lose her again? She was never mine to begin with… But nothing has been as torturous as hearing Finley hurtling the truth at my feet and begging me to refute it. It was all true and there was nothing for me to do or say to stop the verbal assault of validity. I was guilty and I wanted her to know _everything._

"What makes you sorry _now,_ Alden? That the line you dance around finally swooped under you and you got caught up in your tangled life? Do you finally feel guilt for something?"

"I'm just so messed up right now." With my face in my palms, tears rained down upon my blue suede shoes.

"Why? You seem perfectly typical to me. This is normal for you."

"I love you."

"Don't you dare!"

"I'm telling the truth." I chanced to peek at her expression through the fence of my fingers and her intensity stung my retinas like smoke.

"Fantastic way of showing me. Thanks for messing up my only friendly relationship at this school." She now had her back to me, staring out of the open door at the unknowing partygoers who frolicked outside, another world away.

"I messed up. Immensely. But the gargantuan mistake doesn't overshadow my feelings."

"Shut up, Alden!" She screamed, the ice had ignited and a fire was brewing, it melted her mask of frosty aloofness and behind it volcanic fury threatened. "You don't love me! You don't know anything about love! You are intoxicated by the fact that you can't have me!"

"No, you swept me off—"

She slapped me, smiting my jaw and censuring the words on my tongue. "_You_ gave me the broom, Alden, the very first day you saw me. You want to know the saddest part? Although I knew you were a lying, manipulative womanizer I thought that I would give you a chance, then I gave you another, and another. That's not who I am. I knew! I knew the whole time that you would make me look like a fool. _I changed myself for you!_ Never again, Alden. We are done before we even started. We can't even be friends, and that's all I ever really wanted from you." Finley's face was inches from mine and the indifference from before had scratched itself back to the surface. "Find a way to fix it. You owe them." She turned and left me in the room.

Kneeling on the floor, I was a rooted, ruined statue, forced by the gods to weather the hurricane that I caused out of my own caprice. She _had_ cared about me and I had sabotaged my own dreams with my idiocy.

I don't know how long I stayed there but the building grew gradually more quiet as I sat in my deserted prison cell of self-loathing until all that was left of me had melted away leaving me empty.

* * *

**Okay, I got upset for Alden in this chapter... which is why it took so long to write. Next chapter you guys get to have the full affect of Finley's hurt.**

**As always, read and review!**


	11. Evolution of the Heart

**_So here we are. Angsty. But that is to be expected. I suggest you read this with a sad song playing in the background! I hope you guys enjoy it. I am excited to get started on the next stuff. It'll be a nice change of pace. ALSO you find out something that some of you have been waiting to know for a while... It's more humorous than anything, which in this chapter is necessary. _**

**_I hope you guys are liking it so far. I think you are. If not, tell me why! I'd like to do something about it. If you are, tell me why. Because it makes me feel all warm and happy inside :)! _**

**_Song suggestions for this chapter: "Dead and Gone" Lewis and Clark, "Jolene" Mindy Smith, "Promising Light" Iron & Wine... Take it or leave 'em, they are all GREAT songs!_**

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**Selene**

So, this is it.

_This _is what it feels like to be the pathetic girl who makes you want to willingly shove sharpened straws into your eyes at the movies. You know, the girl who wallows in her room because the guy that she's been too chicken-shit to make a move on falls for someone else and she just doesn't get it. _It's all your fault! _You scream at the screen. But she doesn't hear you. She just sits in her room, pouting, listening to sad acoustic music with her long greasy bangs hanging into her mascara-smeared eyes.

Yeah. That's me right now. Well, minus the greasy bangs and bad make-up.

Sure, Eden and Alden hooking up was a little bit of a blind-side. But they weren't the stomach-emptying problem. Eden was only a symptom of this nagging disease. She was not the cause of the lack of feeling that was currently suffocating me.

Alden's horrified look as he stared immovably at Finley's enraged face was the embossed stamp behind my eyelids… The tenacious picture of their palpable feelings was nauseating.

"Jolene" wailed in the background.

_I_ love him.

Why had in the one moment I should be allowed my righteous-woman-scorned anger, Alden's eyes only saw Finley's outrage. It was as if I wasn't even present. As if I'd _never_ been there. I closed my eyes and searched for my fleeing heart.

The dulcet country song swirled around me, transforming and reshaping itself into my own sadness.

_"Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, __**Finley**__…"_

Aiden sat at the foot of my bed; propped against the wall, hand on my leg consolingly as I sat wordlessly. What was he trying to soothe? I was hollow.

"_I'm begging of you please don't take my man/_

_Jolene, Jolene, Finley, Finley/_

_Please don't take him just because you can…."_

My face was dry of tears.

"_Your beauty is beyond compare/_

_With flaming locks of ebony hair/_

_With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green…"_

I had not even breathed a word of anger.

"_Your smile is like a breath of spring/_

_Your voice is soft like summer rain/_

_And I cannot compete with you, Finley…"_

Catatonic.

"_He talks about you in his sleep/_

_There's nothing I can do to keep/_

_From crying when he calls your name, Finley…"_

Only one love was supposed to be realized tonight.

"_And I can easily understand/_

_How you could easily take my man/_

_But you don't know what he means to me, Finley…."_

Loch had made a plan and the plan had proved nothing but one great, huge atomic bomb, igniting and leaving people infected with disease.

"_Jolene, Jolene, Finley, Finley/_

_I'm begging of you please don't take my man/_

_Jolene, Jolene, Finley, Finley/_

_Please don't take him just because you can…"_

Explosion. But the target had not been actualized. All were tortured. Some were burning bodies. Some were vomiting poisonous thoughts. And one was frozen in an assassination of spirit.

"_You could have your choice of men/_

_But I could never love again/_

_He's the only one for me, Finley…_

Brand was a fire of rage.

"_I had to have this talk with you/_

_My happiness depends on you/_

_And whatever you decide to do, Finley…"_

Aiden and Loch were sick as they waited on the aftermath of their separate friends.

"_Jolene, Jolene, Finley, Finley…"_

But I wasn't upset like they were…

"_I'm begging of you please don't take my man/_

_Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Finley/_

_Please don't take him even though you can…"_

Like the extinguishing of a candle, I felt her murderous breath upon me. Smothering my life with her words, with her mere presence. The room was dark and the song played on.

"_Jolene, Finley…."_

* * *

**Erik**

I hate that guy. Stark is the biggest, most arrogant asshole in the history of love triangles. Did he not see that I was incredibly uncomfortable and it was his wife or lover or whatever was the one who wasn't letting me budge? Granted, yeah, I loved her once and sure she's still pretty attractive… But _I_ wasn't messing with her. I mean, come on, does anyone remember how _last_ time ended up?

Yeah. I totally do.

It was the birth of emo. I gave Chris Carrabba an epic amount of material to work with. I tuned my guitar to sad and let it go. I put Dashboard Confessional on the map with my sliced heart. And, I'll be honest; I didn't just 'get over it' like people tell you to do.

I definitely used my male gifts to self-medicate. Get over it; at least I didn't do drugs. Not like that would even be a possibility… Anyway, I had several high profile hook-ups, some fantastic years of near-sighted dating—as opposed to blind dates, I celebrity-knew them (i.e. Megan Fox: totally hot but was into vampire by proxy—creepy, Evan Rachel Wood: we constantly got stuck in the 'bye-loop' and our text conversations were the most annoying things to get out of because of her incessant need to be the last to word in the conversation, Beyonce: super tight free concerts but she was also fluent in acronym speak… which I was not, etc, etc). My agent was high on the prospect of each 'romance,' but none meant anything other than a laugh with the guys at the bar and picture on the cover of a magazine.

Those years droned on until I was doing a movie back in Oklahoma. It was a 1940s biopic with a star-studded cast. I was happy to be leading the charge back in my old stomping grounds with my buddy Brad (before Brangelina took over his sanity) and Penelope Cruz. The movie was getting massive amounts of press and the entire state was happy to claim Brad and I as homegrown Oklahomans. Then, in an interview with a local anchor they brought up my dating history. I thought it was going to pertain solely to my celebredates, but I was wrong. They brought in good ol' Zoey Redbird just to see if I still had a high-school boy's heart still in my tin chest.

Well, it was awkward; having sat in the interview chair so long I was afraid I was going to have chair-ass. Zoey swept in, looking all priestess-y and I was staggering around with one ass cheek asleep. Brad got a black eye for making fun of me for days. It was a moment's meeting, but all that work, all that time spent clearing my head with the boobs of famous girls was erased and I was transported back to the love-sick seventeen year old on national television.

That's when I went under hotness hypnosis and slept with my certifiable costar Penelope. Yeah, she is one of the hottest women in the world. But that sexiness masks a disturbed human being. Post coital, she actually convinced herself that she _wasn't _pregnant but she was just really engrossed in her role as my wife. Yeah, try to imagine that conversation with stilettos flying around your temples and still sleep at night.

Long, tedious story cut gleefully short, Finley was born and I got to say good-bye forever to her lunatic mother. But hey, she is hot.

In the midst of my wacked- out reverie, I realize haven't spoken to Finley in a couple of days. International flights are always having that affect on me. I pick up my phone and hit speed dial two and check my watch, it was past midnight there, being a Saturday, and she should be completely free. But no answer.

I set the phone down and send her a rapid text.

**Call me back, Love. Miss you. **

**Oh! And feel free to attach any details to your reply on guys I need to come up with slanderous photos for to send to US Magazine.**

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**

**Finley**

The tremors didn't ease after I wrenched my gaze from Alden's stormy, ever-changing eyes. Just as the hue of his retinas changed, his actions correspondingly transformed. One moment, I was a minute's glance from infatuation and the next second I could not shake the urge to unleash violent wrath on his tenders.

Thatcher had waited outside the door, he didn't try to console me with words or parables of patience, he offered me his warm hand and we exited the party silently.

I climbed into his monstrous black Suburban and buckled-up robotically. Thatcher sat peering at his white knuckles. Gripping his steering wheel for several minutes, he remained a mute statue.

Finally, he asked in a faint voice, "Where do you want me to take you?"

I came to myself and replied, "I guess a hotel?"

"A hotel?" His face was incredulous.

"Well, I can't go back to my room. And I don't really have any other friends," I shrugged. My voice was feeble and shaking.

His short blond hair sparkled in the green car light as he spun his head around in disbelief. "Um, hello?" He pointed at his face and grinned. "You're coming to my apartment. I have a bed _and_ a couch."

I rested my hand on his arm and smiled softly. "I don't want to inconvenience you nor do I want you dragged into this mess."

He rolled his eyes and turned the key to the ignition. "Whatever, I'm already in the mess. If you remember Alden is my brother and Eden is my ex. I'll sleep on the couch, it's no trouble."

"Thatcher!" I bellowed, running my fingers through the flyaway strands of my black hair, shoving them roughly behind my ears.

"Finley!" He mocked my tone and backed out of the space, closing the conversation as easily as a book.

We drove a few miles into midtown and pulled up to a white townhouse and parked. It was a cute little cottage that Thatcher rented the upstairs to. He welcomed me into his newly inhabited space and apologized for the numerous boxes that decorated his living room. The only other décor was a poster of Mohammed Ali that hung slightly off-kilter on the wall behind the big brown couch.

"I hate to ask, but do you have a t-shirt I could borrow?" I asked sheepishly.

"Of course. And I also have an extra toothbrush and pillow before you beat around the bush to ask for them later." He smiled and elbowed me as he led me into the bedroom. He dipped into a box and tossed me a massive t-shirt and flipped on the light to the bathroom. "I'm going to change really quick. Yell when you are finished so I know I can come out."

I tore off my dress and pantyhose like a child after Sunday church service. Pulling the enormous shirt over my head, I yelled for Thatcher to come out of the bathroom.

"You're fast," He laughed. Giving me a long smirk, he handed me a toothbrush.

"They don't call me Cheetah-Changer for nothing," I replied walking into the bathroom.

"They actually call you that?"

I laughed with a mouthful of toothpaste. "That's for you to decide and me to know."

I heard his boom of laughter as he rummaged around the room.

I washed my face quickly and pulled my curls into a messy bun. Several worked their way loose and I ignored them. I walked into the room as Thatcher was turning down the bed. "Thanks, mom." I mocked and jumped into the covers.

He chuckled and tossed a pillow at my face. "Ungrateful, wretch."

I felt a pang of regret seeing Thatcher turn to exit the room. It was his bedroom and I was taking over. It was probably his first night in a new place and he was being forced to sleep on the couch.

Thatcher reached to the lamp beside the bed and clicked off the light. As he was pulling his hand back, I clasped his wrist. "You don't have to go," I breathed through the dark air.

Bemused, he traced his hand down to weave his fingers through mine.

Before he could get the wrong idea, I interjected— "I mean, it's not like anything would happen. I just hate making you sleep on the couch for no reason."

He nodded once and saluted me. "You're the boss."

I scooted over and grinned. "Forever the gentleman. Did they teach you that in training?"

He turned his face to me and rested his head on his arm. "They taught me a lot of things, but not _this_." His words carried a weight that seemed to deepen the darkness of the room. His bronzed face and misty eyes complimented his sapphire moon and the pale fringe around his eyes. He scrutinized my expression wordlessly before closing his eyes behind his long blond lashes.

I can't explain the intricately woven feelings that permeated my mind. I hadn't allowed myself to concentrate on the words that Alden had burdened me with. I couldn't doubt the sincerity of his feelings after seeing the expression that accompanied the uttering, but I couldn't decipher what it meant to his past and future actions. I also couldn't quite ignore my sudden aggressive compulsion to stretch out my fingers and take Thatcher's hand into mine. Thatcher's face floated behind my eyelids, braiding and fading into Alden's and then winking back into Thatcher's disarming smile.

Even after all that Alden had done, he was the one that I thought of when my eyes close and my secret thoughts would no longer consent to being ignored. Had this been what I wanted all along? Had I hoped that he would fall in love with me? That's insane! I had only known him for a few days… Trivial conversations. Insignificant meetings.

But that doesn't change the obvious fact that my subconscious kept screaming at me: _As Alden knelt before you and poured out his feelings, you didn't force him to stop speaking. You wanted to console him, stop his tears, and wrap him in your arms._

Yeah, I scream back, but I also wanted to smash his face in for choosing _this_ moment to reveal his violent affections for me. Classy.

_Nonetheless, you still want him. Now. You even wish he were here. Now._

Sure. I'd love to slap him again. That was exhilarating. Much better than in the movies.

_Why did you slap him?_

Because he messed around with my best friend!

_Untrue. Why did you slap him?_

Because he was making excuses!

_Ridiculous. Why did you slap him?_

Because he said he loved me _after_ screwing my roommate.

_Half-truth. _Why_ did you slap Alden?_

Because I love him and he ruined it.

_Now we're getting there. There's more. Do I need to ask again?_

Because I love him and this is the only way I would have ever realized it. I would have never admitted my feelings without pretense if I hadn't felt what it felt like to be betrayed. And now I'm _pissed_.

--

I folded my face in my hands and crumpled in upon myself. And the tears came, hard, icy, and torrential.

"Fin!" Thatcher called and picked me up into his arms. "What's the matter?"

"I hate him," I bawled. I crushed my face into his rocky shoulder, clawing at his arms as I sobbed.

"No you don't," He mumbled, brushing my ringlets back from my forehead.

"Yes I do!"

"Finley, you don't hate him." He pulled back from my face and pressed his palms on either side of my head, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

"Don't tell me how I feel," I grumbled. A thought strikes me and I act without the pulse of a heartbeat. I pressed my lips to his, rough and tenacious.

"No!" Thatcher shouted and pushed my shoulders away. "Not like this."

I climbed back into his lap and wrapped my body around his. I found his face in the darkness and held it in my fingertips. I kissed each corner of his mouth and each time he turned his face away from me. I turned his face back to mine and looked deeply into his wooden eyes. They sparkled with indecision and in that moment I took up my opportunity. Brushing my lips over his gently, I stroked his cheek with my fingers.

"Are you sure?" He begged with closed eyes.

I kissed his eyelids and then opened his mouth with my lips. With that he was open and giving, conversing with this lips and tongue. His hands were sweet and benevolent as they embraced my chin, shoulders, and waist. His touch was pleasant, but at this moment I_ knew_.

There was no one else whose touch would feel anything other than heavy, burdensome. _No one else_. This is what passion feels like? Imagining someone else engaging in such an intimate act? _Needing_ to hurt him in the way he hurt me, just to be sure that he could feel even a millionth the amount of love that I do? Then this is the unimaginable pain of knowing that his pain would be my pain. Seeing his face contorting into sorrow at the knowledge of what I had just done was nothing more than agony. What did I do? My hate was truly passionate, violent love.

This is the stuff that I have read about in literature classes throughout my life. This is what girls dream of at night?

This is sadism!

Surgery was more enjoyable than this feeling. It is like I am standing on the edge of my old life, staring into the abyss of nothingness, catapulting tiny pieces of my prior self into the crevasse. I watch them ricochet off the rocks and then fall into the void, dying each time. I wish I could go back, and live in my blissful ignorance of girlhood.

I was done kissing him now. Thatcher wasn't whom I wanted. He would never be what I want. My parasitic love was expended. I steal a glance at Thatcher's sleeping face. He's smiling with closed eyelids that hid his simple blue eyes. He'll wake up tomorrow evening and I'll be gone.

Alden and I were two carbon copies of broken, withered beings, users.

Two sadistic souls floating through the night like phantoms.

But one fear still pervades: All I'll ever see when I look at him is the fear of his true self… of him using me, just like the others, and leaving me.

_You won't know anything until you _look_ at him._

I'm so scared.

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Once more, I enclose my face in my hands and allow a few more tears to fall for Eden, Thatcher, Brand, Alden, and my self. We were all victims of this callous cycle of love. Each person, in love with someone who is in love with someone else. How could I be in love with someone so inhumanly faulted? How could love cause such bleeding damage to each person?

And I could see it in Thatcher's twisted grin—he was falling for me.


	12. Brothers Grimm

**Dear friends! Here is the next chapter. (Sorry it's taken a little bit... I've gotten into catching up on LOST, which is sucked my time! ooops.)**

**I hope you enjoy it... there's some fluff and as always a little cliffhanger ending. It's a little shorter than the rest, but let's be honest, I don't do filler! So, I hope you enjoy the Fin/Alden moments that you've all been waiting for (minus the very vocal and raucous few who champion poor Thatcher! I haven't forgotten you!)! **

**Please, read, review, explain, laugh, cry, freak out, tell me I'm stupid for writing blah blah blah, anything you want! I just want to write a story you guys enjoy! So tell me!**

**P.S. Yes Penelope was random. But SHEESH, you needed some happy/funny/strange in this story! It gets so darn dark and angsty! And I just though, "Hmmmm, who is someone Erik would sleep with to piss off Zoey?" Instant golden idea!**

**_ENOUGH rambling! Read!_**

**

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Alden**

The air is crisp and unfriendly in the hallway that I haunt. The slants of light make their way across the mahogany floorboards where I am stretched out. Without looking at my watch, I could tell you it was late afternoon based on the color of the light and the achingly slow passage of time. The dorm sleeps. I wait.

I can't tell you what cemented me to this forlorn spot beneath the door of two women who would spit at the sight of me. I knew it was unreasonable to stay here and hope just for one last sight of her. I had timed it correctly. I waited to be sure Eden would be tucked safely inside so she wouldn't have to burst into tears when she caught a glimpse of my hunched body and bruised face. And Finley had not returned home yet.

After the party I had made my way to Brand's room as commanded. He was holed up inside with Lochlan, obviously tearing the place apart. I could hear hard things colliding with walls and splintering into pieces. The sound of their voices prickled the air with a fiery anger that singed my cheeks. I balled my hands into fists and thrust them into the door, knocking in my usual cadence. The game of smash-the-breakables ceased and silence infiltrated the air like a bad stench.

Loch's voice came first, hard and volatile: "Apparently, you are just hungry to see what it would look like for that pretty face of yours to be all smashed up?"

"You think I'm pretty?" I asked, backing away from the door.

The door cracked and threw a sliver of light at my feet. Accompanying the light was Lochlan's scrunched face, baptized in sweat. "No one's here to protect you tonight, Redbird." He stalked out of the room and thrust his face inches from mine. "Any last words before I pound the life out of you?"

I was looking at my feet until this time, but I couldn't resist this moment's promise of looking in his blue eyes, staring him down, like the man I should be. Fire danced behind his lids and I knew his mania would be his weakness in this fight. "I would say that I expected better clichés from a friend of mine, but I know I would be wrong on both accounts."

Loch let out a feral growl and shoved me against the wall with his arm at my neck, trying to push me through the plaster walls. I struggled for breath, ripping and tearing at his forearm. With one hand I reached for his face but his other arm was already there, holding it to my side. He thrust my head against the wall, hard. He pounded the back of up my skull against the wall again, begging me to speak through the pain. His face contorted into that of a predatory lion, growling, "Shut up Alden!" He screamed, "For once, you can just, _shut up!"_

I tried to kick with what little energy I could from my spare air, but not much would surface. Finally, with the last breath it seemed I had, I murmured in clipped phrases, "I know, man. I lost you. As a friend. I'm sorry."

"Let him drop, Loch." The voice came from inside the black of my eyelids. Brand's strong, quiet voice.

I slid to the floor.

Knuckles cracked across my left cheekbone and my eyes flew open. Blood trickled down into my mouth and gagged me. Brand stood before me, clenching and unclenching his fist. "I need you to leave me alone for a while." His voice was strained, cracking under the weight of tears.

I nodded. "I'm sorry. I know it means nothing… because of who I am and all the shit I've done... But it's true."

Brand nodded and turned to retreat into his shattered room.

Loch was leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded, chest rising and falling rapidly. He took one quick look at me and slapped me with the back of his hand across my other unblemished cheek. "I hope that helps you in the girl department. I nice big bitch bruise for a while." With that he walked back into Brand's room and shut the door with a loud slam.

I sat outside that room, waiting. Then, when I felt I had given it enough time, I stumbled to the place I now sat. Bumbling between separate consciousnesses. One moment I dream Finley turns the corner and sees me, running to me like a child, she grabs my face and cradles it in her arms. She kisses me and tells me she's just happy I'm okay. Then, I wake up because someone is returning from the party and catches a glimpse of a figure looming in a dark corner of the hallway. I slip into sleep again. Finley turns the corner and runs to me like a demon. Her face contorts into Lochlan's rage and she pummels me with fiery fists. Suddenly, her entire body ignites and burns the dormitory down. A creaking floorboard awakes me as a cat streaks past.

I trip into a dreamless sleep. And there she is, tip toeing up the hallway, dress over one arm, shoes in the other. She hesitates as she sees me sitting by her door, then she drops down to one knee and looks into my face with such concern I am sure I am dreaming again.

I lift my sore arm slowly up to her face, but it's too painful and drops instantly.

"What happened to you?" She asks, plopping down beside me.

I lift my eyebrows, painfully. "Funny you should ask, Dream Finley. I got the shit kicked out of me by my best friends." I pause and resituate myself to where I'm not resting on my bruised arms. "I've always thought that phrase was disgusting and unfitting."

Her smile dipped into confusion, causing her eyes to not match her mouth. "Dream Fin—whatever." She laughed a short giggle and rolled her eyes. "Only you would comment on the ineffectiveness of a phrase while looking like you ran face first into a Range Rover."

I lifted and dropped my arms like they were two heavy pieces of metal. "Don't forget the arms. I may be the lover, but Lochlan is definitely the fighter."

At the mention of the word 'lover' Finley's face darkened and her smile faded.

"I'm sorry, that was stupid…" I tore my eyes from hers and began to wonder why I had felt the need to wait outside this door for her when I knew she would not want to see me. Hell, she would probably bruise the only part of my body left without a blue hue… I suddenly hope this idea hasn't come to her yet.

"That's true, " she shrugged. "I was meaning to talk to you, anyway. Though I thought it would be somewhere else at a different time… but it's now or never I guess." She laid her dress beside her and sat her shoes on top of it. "What you said last night…"

I grimaced. "I know, it was ridiculous. I shouldn't have said it."

Finley's face turned to cement. "No, " she began. "It wasn't, at least, for me. Yeah, it was ass-tactic timing but I'm glad you told me nonetheless." She fidgeted with the hem of the oversized t-shirt she was wearing, then looked up, full into my eyes and bit her lip. "I do_ care_ about you… more than I would ever admit and more than I should, with our very short history. I mean, come on! No offense, Alden, but you're not the best of guys. And I've known you for like a week."

I ran my hand over my mussed hair, contemplating my reply. "Finley, there is absolutely no reason to any of this. I can't put words to how I feel about you nor can I explain how I've acted around you in response to that. I can try… but it will never make complete sense."

She rested her head against the wall and grinned. "Did I ask for scientific evidence? I just want to make sure I'm not making a huge, idiotic mistake." She closed her eyes and whispered, "Try… Please _try _to tell me."

With that, I leaned forward and clasped her chin in my hand. Her eyes opened, startled and stared at me. "Somehow, someone has managed to package everything I love, everything I find vexing, everything I find familiar and mysterious into this little face." I let go of her chin and balled my fists up into my pockets. "At first, I'll admit it, I was planning on just sleeping with you… though my plans didn't have much sleeping involved." I chuckled a little and her laugh tinkled in time with mine. "Then, for some reason, you turned me. It freaked me out. I started thinking about stuff that I never allowed myself to think about. I was stuck—on you. It was like you were a song on permanent repeat. At first, I was pissed. So, I made mistake one. I won't go into details…" I steal a look, but her face reveals nothing. "But I wanted to prove that I wouldn't feel guilty for just being myself. But I couldn't. I felt like you _deserved_ more and if I was going to ever be with you, I'd have to be _more._ And in the midst of my growing conscience, you collided with me, again, _literally_. Furthermore, I had to take care of you in a semi-functional state, and I can't tell you how anyone can make a concussion look pretty… but you did it. I knew I was in trouble. I wanted you, but more than that, I needed to be better for you. Needed to find out more about you, so that I could become this person who was worthy of you."

"But—I don't want you to be anyone you're not."

"Bull shit. You don't want me how I was—_am. _I won't pretend like I've changed over night. But I _need_ to be a decent person. You made me realize that. Then, my brother shows up!" I lay my face in my hands. "Mr. Righteous, knight in white armor! How am I supposed to compete with that?"

Her hands pried my face from the cage of my fingers. Green eyes hung before mine and sparkled with humor. Finley's smile contorted madly and she whispered, "Good thing for you, I've always preferred the darker side of things."

She pressed her cheek to mine and embraced me gently. I felt her body move about me and envelop me a warm caress. Finley pulled back and looked into my face and grinned again, shaking her head. "We are both gluttons for punishment."

"Why do you say that?"

"I'm afraid we'll tear ourselves apart trying to make this work."

"I'm positive I haven't worked hard a day in my life. But I promise I'd labor as a slave as long as I could be near you."

She pressed her lips to mine. She breathed into me and opened me with her mouth. I couldn't help my hands as they wandered into her hair and cupped her cheek. We sat in the cold hallway warming ourselves with kisses, hands and tangled legs. It was the best first kiss I can remember and I hoped it'd be my last.

Finley laughed and kissed my nose before helping me stand up. "You need to get some sleep. And ice that face before I see you again… I'd like our next meeting to be a little more _unmannerly._" With the dark sparking around her smile, I let go over her hand as she disappeared through her door.

Just as I watched her legs and body retreat, I caught a glimpse the text printed on her oversized t-shirt.

"**Sons of Erebus, we fight with might given from above: NEVER RETREAT."**

* * *

**Thatcher**

My fingers reached across the cold mattress, seeking the warmth of her fingers.

Nothing but air-chilled sheets.

She's been gone for hours.

I swim in my own sadness for a few moments, when I surface, only anger remains. I had known this would happen. I tried to prevent it and said no. But she didn't care, she needed to prove a point to herself and she used me to punctuate the sentence. _She didn't care about me!_

So here I lay, knowing that there wasn't much to do about it. She had proven her feelings.

Extracting myself from my own tangled sheets, I stretched my back. Unclenching and stretching each muscle surrounding my spine, I lengthened my body to the ceiling, making myself as tall as possible. I readied myself for a long day of guarding the House. I had told my soldiers to be ready by six in the evening and I would need to be there early to be sure all was quiet. There were no excuses to be made. The warrior's life was private completely disconnected from protecting the lives of the House. No runover. No exemptions.

As I drove to school, I did my best to push Finley completely out of my waking mind. I pulled into my spot and removed her completely from my thoughts. Checking into the office, I greeted the professors and received the morning news. No threats or security breaches and if all went well, my mom would be home in two days. Everything was business.

Turning the corner of my first round, I ran into Selene leaning against the black marble wall like a siren. I had never seen her look so thoroughly unintentional with her appearance. Her red hair reflected against the inky stone giving her a fiery appearance.

Her nonplussed lips greeted me. "Morning, Thatcher." Selene's strawberry blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her make-up was residual from the previous day, but the coquette was not missing.

"Good morning, Selene. How is your evening going?"

She looked like a cat that had been doused in water. "Quite well. How did the party end up for you?"

I smiled graciously. "Pretty simply. I just went home. You?"

Her face tightened like someone was pinching it. "Yeah, a bomb was dropped, so I thought I'd get out of there before all the damage could be assessed."

"Clever metaphor. Fits the ending very nicely. Have you seen—"

She cut across me, dropping her book bag to the floor, "Cut the shit, Thatcher! Are we seriously going to make small talk about the party from hell?"

I felt my eyebrows retreat into my hairline in surprise. "I'm sorry. I was just being pol—"

"Just being polite! I know! That's all you _ever_ are! Did you ever think that's why_ she_ didn't stay? That she didn't want 'polite?'" Selene's face was venomous as she stared down the hall, eyeing students who strayed too closely.

"Selene, I know you're upset. But I don't think I'm the one you are angry with."

Her head swiveled back to face me with a sarcastic smile was plastered manically to her cheeks. "Yes, of course I'm _upset._ But, no, Thatcher, I disagree. I am angry with you."

"Why? What did I do?"

She shoved her finger into my shoulder so hard her pink nail broke the skin, bringing drops of blood to sleeve of my white shirt. "You came back! You flirted with her all night! You made him jealous which made him act out with Eden! Then, _you_ gave them the perfect excuse to finally 'talk' about their feelings!" She looked at me like I was someone who didn't know two and two made four.

I folded my arms across my chest. "That's quite the list that I am responsible for. Could you repeat that all again? I'd like to take notes of all the names of people I now control."

"Shut your mouth, asshole. If you don't believe me, answer this. Did Finley stay the _whole_ night with you?"

"Who said she stayed with me?"

"Seriously, Thatcher, you'd think you would learn a little logic in training. No one had to tell me you juicehead! Did she stay all night? Or did you find yourself reaching for her across the cold mattress in vain?" Her eyes gleamed with excitement. She knew she was right.

"I'm sure she had an early class." I turned to leave. "Besides, nothing happened. So it doesn't matter if she left."

Selene let out a slow intense chuckle. "Well, my meaty friend, it does matter. To both of us. Because that means our two good friends met up and got to explore their feelings for one another. Touching. I'm sure they figured out why such drastic responses to such trivial things happened and blah, blah, blah. And _that_ is why I am angry with you." Her fingernail punched my shoulder again for emphasis.

"You're insane." I spread my arms wide and began to walk away. "I mean, certifiably disturbed."

"There's something _you_ can do to fix it…" She taunted. "They don't belong together. This sweet girl with tons of talent and intelligence and wit, with Alden? Come on, he's a womanizing, loser, who loves no one more than himself. He'll just use her until he gets bored and throw her away. Just. Like. The. Others."

I don't remember turning around and walking back to her. But I did. I stood before Selene, knowing I couldn't trust her, but her words seemed so true. So blatantly accurate. "I don't want her to feel like one of them. She doesn't deserve that."

Selene smiled and patted my arm like a mother. "Of course she doesn't! She deserves someone who could protect her and make her laugh. Someone who could just be her best friend."

I nodded.

Her smile never moved, it was plastered to her face like a white stage mask. "I know who Alden is. And I know Finley. They aren't complimentary pieces. Alden just wants her because she's new and _you_ liked her. He only likes the game. Finley needs to know that. _We _need to tell her."

"Alden is my brother. I can't just walk up and tell her what a douche bag he is."

"No, but we could show her."

"How?"

Selene's plastic grin twitched and spread even wider, like someone was cranking up the voltage to her mechanical mask. "_Sweetie_! Have you forgotten what I'm good at?"


	13. Revenge of the Mistress

**_Okay, I'm really sorry it's taken me so long to update. I've gotten busy. But don't worry, after all the pushy messages and comments I got right on it! :)_**

**_So here! I hope you like it. For some reason this is one of my favorite chapters. I really like the Selene/Finley dynamic._**

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**Selene**

There are no classes today, but that doesn't mean I can't get things done.

I retrieve my list from my planner and cross out Thatcher's name.

Now that that's done, I just have to see that the rest of my plan is following its normal course of action.

I look up to watch the night sky twinkle at the prospect of finally ridding my life of Finley Night. As I am breathing a sigh of relaxation, I catch a glimpse of a hooded figure crossing campus. Somehow, I know it's her. I must now possess some cosmic power to sense skank nasty presences. Awesome, can't wait to put that to use.

She turns off the path and heads towards Alden's dorm. I wonder if he knows she's coming? He usually doesn't like for girls to come to his room. He tries to limit his exploits strictly to his studio. It's like he thinks his dorm is sacred or something. I mean _I've_ hardly been to his dorm. Only on times I've just shown up and mostly he diverts us back to my room with some sort of game.

This thought pulls me up short. It's like I walk into a literal wall. I don't think I've ever been in his room for more than five minutes.

Well. I hope he throws her out within two.

I look down at my list and see Eden's name written next to the number two. May the next phase commence.

**--**

**Finley**

Okay, so here I am. Back to the place I was fighting against every inch _not_ to be. But I am resolved. I feel light, peaceful, and even purposeful. This isn't something that I want. It's something I know.

_Ugh_. I know that makes no sense.

It sounds like kooky poetic crap some girl doodles in her notebook with decorative swirls and flowers and hearts and bears and rainbows and other things that make me dry-heave. And yeah, I've made fun of that girl. A lot. She was the bitter pill of my high school existence. The way she offered her heart to the student body's voracious appetite was so pitiful that it literally nauseated me. I would sit in class and pick them out. The girls who would be brokenhearted before fourth period. The guys that feasted on their miserable lives. I would wait and watch, horrorstruck as they all fell, one by one into the trap. They walked so willingly blind into the arms of jerks, one by one. It was like some mechanical cycle that drew them in magnetically, then held fast them with the unbreakable strings. Once they had fallen into it, they were spit into another crushing trap. Over and over.

Somehow, they never knew their tears were as preventable as the flu. Just like any virus, there are ways to avoid contraction. Wash your hands—be done with these boys, removal—get them out of your head, vaccinations—be ready for their assault. Simple!

But here I am in spite of my years of experienced bitterness. Sometimes you just get tired of shoving back against a bulldozing force. You push and shoulder the force to no avail. Finally, you have to turn and face your fate and just hope that somehow you aren't flattened.

I shut the door behind me and lean against it. Just like you see girls on television do after they've such a great date that it seems like their legs just can't quite possibly hold them up. But that's not the reason I crush against the door—Eden's body lies just below my feet. Passed out cold. I step over her gingerly, kneel down to be sure she's still breathing, and make my way to the non-demolished side of the room.

Eden must react really well to turmoil. The room resembles something similar to an Old Navy After Christmas Sale. Good thing I gave her the room for the night, I absolutely hate anything that mirrors bargain shopper delirium.

I melt into my bed, swiftly changing into my own nightclothes, throwing my dress and Thatcher's shirt on the top of my pile of clothes. I try to calm my swirling mind, but it's no use. Alden kept refusing to shut up enough to let me sleep. I pull the covers over my head and try to think of something boring.

Golf.

Such a frigging boring sport.

Seriously? Knocking a ball with a piece of metal from long distances and weird angles into a hole.

Titillating.

I bet Alden grew up playing golf. I can imagine some old man forcing him into those ridiculous plaid shorts and him only agreeing if the old guy gave him scotch. In a pretentious British accent.

Alden.

_Eff._ Think of something else.

Laundry.

The one thing my dad insisted I learned to do on my own.

He'd say, "Unless you want to be a raging elitist, you better learn how to wash your own clothes." I'd retort rudely and he'd threaten to cut me off.

I'm sure Alden sends his clothes off. You don't just wash Armani.

_Enough!_ If I am going to sit here thinking about him I might as well be able to talk to him. I'm no conservative; I don't have to be invited. And who says relationships should always be on the guy's terms? Let's be honest, the ball is pretty much in my possession, I can play with it however I want. (No dirty pun intended. Of course.)

--

Five minutes later I am already across campus, hoody around my face as if it could provide some sort of concealment. I try to think of some quippy way to greet Alden, but when he sleepily opens the door shirtless, I've lost my signature snark.

"What sort of ab workout do you do?" Escapes my mouth before I can regain my composure. I blame it on the lack of sleep and downright dramatic day preceding. (Not his lean muscles that wink at me in the dim moonlight.)

Alden's brow furrows in confusion and he runs his hand through his hair as if this will help him understand my surprise visit and idiotic greeting. Obviously, I have woken him up from a serious REM cycle and his hair paid the price—it looks like he's rocking a serious Pete Wentz 'do. Leaning, against the door he squints at me and blurts sarcastically, "Ab circle. It's pretty phenomenal."

I nod a few times and then look up at his face. The bruises are already yellowed and disappearing. "Your face looks better." I tentatively stretch a finger to press to his cheekbone but he recoils. This one movement was enough to have me running in terror.

What happened?

Were my fears completely relevant?

Did he just want me to show some vulnerability to wreck it all and prove me right?

Every insecure thought explodes in my brain and threatens to spew.

I can't keep the hurt from surfacing for a moment before I shove it back down in the pit of my stomach.

He grimaces but says nothing.

Well, if I already gave him what he wanted, I might as well throw all caution to the wind. I want some answers. "Alright, why are you being an ass?" I lean back against his hall and cross my arms. If I am going to be made a fool I might as well get in as many insults as possible.

His frown deepens and he throws open the door and walks into his room.

An invitation?

"No, Alden," I spit. "If you are going to make me feel like a fool for trusting you thirty minutes ago, I'd prefer to stay on some neutral ground." I pause and peek at my house shoes that are wet from the trip over. "For your sake," I add quietly.

He returns to the door, pauses in the shadows for a minute, and then steps into the lit hallway. His face his red and angry. "Where did you stay last night while I was waiting for you outside your door like a _fool_?"

Chagrin colors my face, my arms, my stance. How did he find out so quickly? I have nothing to be ashamed of. We had no commitment.

Well, that's not true. On either account. If the roles were reversed I would be just as angry. Exponentially pissed.

I mechanically unfold my arms and take one step toward him, chewing my words. "I guess you deserve some honesty." He takes one look at me and hurtles his eyes to the floor in disgust. "Alden, I was upset. I had no place to stay. Did you expect me to go back to my dorm with Eden feeling guilty and probably blaming me for some of what happened? Thatcher was being kind." I pause over my last words and Alden snaps his face up to look me in the eyes and I decide my last words. "That was it."

His face softens. "That was it?" Alden's smiles his dimpled grin expectantly. Begging me to lie.

I smile and take his hand. He pulls me into the room before I can begin to regret the omission I had left hanging in the air.

Alden's lean body possesses a quiet strength that washes over me and guides me in a way I have never experienced. He whipped me up into his arms and carried me across the concrete floor to his bed that lies on a raised platform at the end of the room. It was just a mattress on the floor, no headboard but a massive rectangle paned window behind it. Flanking the bed was several canvases filled with mixed media interpretations of Alden's life. A beautiful raven-haired woman with her back turned. An arrow slicing the air. Words, lots of words. And some red lips, parted, breathing.

Several rugs were strewn across the floor. Books sat in quiet piles in every corner. A record player stood against the north wall with several boxes of records stashed around it. A small refrigerator was pushed against a different wall with a microwave on top. Paintbrushes were _everywhere_.

This room was not what I pictured Alden Redbird to own. It was a room of an artist not a blue-blooded brat. There were no gold plated ceilings tiles with cherubs guarding the corners, no mahogany paneled walls, and no silk strewn curtains. In fact, there were no curtains at all. And hardly any windows.

I was about to mention this stark discrepancy when his lips silenced all decorative thoughts bouncing around my brain. I halted all HGTV suggestions and focused on Alden's kisses. They were soft enough to surprise me but hard enough to not be ignored. He dropped me onto the bed—mattress on the ground with at least three quilts tangled on top—and folded me into the most unexpected embrace of my life.

There was no need to translate his emotions into words.

He was grateful I had come.

He was pleased and surprised that I had let him in.

And frankly, so was I.

I pressed his body into mine as earnestly and gently as I could. It is such a strange feeling to want someone so close it feels like pain but at the same time to be petrified you will cause him any pain at all. We sat like that for an indiscriminant amount of time. Just being. Being_ together_.

Finally, our backs grew tired so we collapsed into his mattress of quilts. He stretched his fingers out to mine and pulled me against his chest. I hate to sleep on my back, but I was afraid if I turned on my side I would miss some of him—miss his face if I closed my eyes. I wanted to see everything about him. To perceive every tinge of a smile. To watch his eyes morph into different colors. To feel his breath as he slowly dozed. I studied all these things. His eyes flickered and closed and he fell asleep with the sweetest smile indenting his cheeks.

--

**Selene**

By the time I make it to Eden's dorm, she's awake and surly. I've never seen her this rude and I kind of like it.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She spits with her head hanging above the toilet.

"Checking on your sun-shiney personality." I knock several broken shards of something formerly fancy off of a chair and sit down.

"I hope I've met your expectations," she murmurs and then pukes.

I stifle a smile. "Certainly. I've been waiting years for you to tarnish your porcelain persona."

Eden pats the toilet bowl and replies, "Consider it soiled, my friend." She stands, takes a tense bow, and nearly falls.

I watch her for a moment as she rights herself.

"Seriously, why'd you come?"

I contemplate her words and cross my legs professionally. "I came because I need to help you get yourself together."

Eden hitches an eyebrow but remains silent.

I fold my hands in my lap. "Right now, you're a mess. And you're allowed your time to be angry. But if you want to get things right then you have to fake it until you make it."

"How am I supposed to get things right?"

"By getting your man back."

Eden huffs and spreads her arms wide in frustration. "But I don't even know _who_ I want back!"

"I know."

She whips back around to face me. "Excuse me?"

"I know you are confused right now. But don't you think it would be easier to figure this all out if you had both of them? Wouldn't that be the optimum situation?"

"Of course!" Eden's face seems to be surprised by her own outburst and she folds onto herself. "I mean, no. That's not fair to either of them."

"Oh, have some balls, Eden Lafont! These guys should be eating out of the perfumed crevice of your boobs! As much as _I_ hate to admit it, you're the hottest thing around here. Sure, we all have our niches, but you have the beauty thing down pat."

Her face is washed of emotion. It is like she has frozen in time. Finally, after several super awkward moments of girl on girl staring she says, "Okay."

I take this as my chance to complete phase two of the plan and wrangle Eden as one of my new recruits. "Alright. Glad to have you back, E! I propose you get yourself looking hot and march on over to whichever person you want first and lay some groundwork."

"Groundwork?"

"You know, seduction? Please say that you haven't been on lock-down so long you've forgotten how to play the game."

"I think I can figure it out. I'm sure its comparable to bike riding."

I snort. "Something like that. I have some people you could practice on if you'd like."

She waves her hands in dismissal. "Unnecessary."

"Sure." I swipe my hair behind my shoulder. I may not have the raw tools like Eden has, but I sure know how to use what I have to make up for everything I lack. "Now, we have another problem. And it's up to you how we solve it."

"And that is?"

"Your roommate."

Her breath catches at this and I know I'm in. "What about her?"

"Are you going to make me say it?"

Eden stares at me silently. I count in my head, one, two, three… maybe I am going to have to say it… four. "Thatcher's into her," She blurts.

"Obviously. But that doesn't have to be a problem if we don't want it to be."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the best girls make their problems into solutions."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that this whole world is one big game of chess. If you play well you win. Simple."

I can tell I've lost her again. Must I do everything? I roll my eyes.

"Do you know where she stayed last night?"

Eden's face grows sad. She shakes her head.

"I know, you were friends. At least you thought you were. But, Eden, you were never _really_ friends. I know girls like her. Hell! I _am_ a girl like her. We look out for ourselves and keep an eye out for other players."

"Do you really think she's like that?" Suddenly, Eden looks like a small child. Her hands are in her lap and her knees are folded beneath her. I can't help but remember the ballerina she was when she was little. She believed everything you told her. So easy.

I reach forward and touch her hand. "I know she's like that."

Her eyes watch my hands grasp hers. She doesn't return the squeeze but allows their warmth to encircle her fingers. Finally, she looks up into my blue eyes and whispers, "What do you want me to do?"

I don't even have to fake a smile this time.

--


	14. Finley Veiled Truth

_**Done, here it is folks. Please let me know what you think. I never know if you like the way the story is going if you don't let me know! **_

_**Song selection for this chapter: "I Need Some Sleep" by the Eels.

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**Finley**

My sleeping body has melted inside the crook of Alden's arm when it hits me—hard and fast like a slap across the cheek.

The familiar need.

The visceral reaction to a shift in emotions or ideals or relationships.

This is how my body reacts to change. I've learned to deal with this in my own space—to deal with it on my own, as it comes.

I peel my sweaty cheek from Alden's arm and pat it softly. I'm sure he'll be glad I won't be cutting off the circulation to his fingers, anyway. As I collect my strewn things from the concrete gallery, I allow my eyes to drink in one last sight of him. He lies on his side, arm still cradling the vacated space that was my bed. Sleep has a strange way of painting people with vulnerability. I move one silent toe closer to his sleeping frame. I see that it is not weakness that I am studying, but an open and eager beauty that Alden so often keeps hidden deep in this gallery of honesty. Every morning he wakes up, picks out a shirt and a mask to match. He hides behind his facades of arrogance rather than risk exposing his fractures. It is strange that an artist has not yet learned that the faults are what create fascination and even attraction. Of course, he has a penchant for beauty, but he should know like everyone else, beauty fades to lackluster nuisance.

Suddenly, I want nothing more than to shake him awake and tell him how interesting he is. How that, every time that he kisses me and he pulls back and smiles this goofy-five-year-old-grin, it makes me more hungry than I have ever been in my life. That his weird tick of running his hands through his hair or shoving his hands so far down into his pockets that he looks like he's trying to touch his knees, always signal how nervous he is. And I love it. He does this thing when he is trying to figure me out—its something between an awful model stare and a little kid trying to figure out how to work through a Rubik's Cube—its so weird but its all I can do than to just spill every fugtastic thought I've ever had in that moment.

All of these things make him mine. He should know how much I love them and how much the world would receive just by his candor.

But it's back and as if a rope as sprung from the open air and lassoed me around my middle, I push off from the edge of the mattress and I am through the door before I take a second breath.

* * *

**Alden**

I'm rushing through some sort of jungle. I don't feel the ground beneath my feet or the leaves whipping my face, but I know they're there. My dream-self is completely aware of all things. There is a squawking blue jay overhead that feels out of place and aggravating. But I ignore him and race on through the jungle, following the track of broken stems and leaves. I follow her.

I break through an open clearing and see her body, naked and vulnerable, stretched out upon a red velvet chaise lounge. But something is wrong, no, _everything_ is wrong. Her hair isn't curly and black, falling in long shiny ringlets around her turquoise eyes. Her body isn't curved and soft. Her smile is wide and harsh, showing too many teeth. It's a maddening smile and then it breaks and a long, drawn laugh that echoes like we are in a cavern.

I know that laugh.

Selene shakes her long strawberry blonde hair and runs a finger down her thin body.

She looks up to see my reaction and like a mirror has been thrust in front of my face, I see my reaction also. Terror. I see myself turn and run through the jungle, tearing trees apart as I flee.

But my dream consciousness stays put, and focuses on Selene's anguished face. Her eyes drop to her hands and she whips on a robe and covers her body ashamedly. The cries that emote from her mouth are so haunting that they wake the jungle. Lions, snakes, blue jays, bears, lynxes unfold from the jungle and all focus on her tears.

"We'll help you," they say. And she nods once.

I wake up. Finley's warm body has left a sad indention in my blankets with her absence.

* * *

**Erik**

I reread the poem I have chosen for the ceremony though I have known this particular poem since I was seven. I'm being anal out of nervousness. I shake my head. I'm a man, dammnit. I should act like one.

I pull on my blazer and check for my room keycard and am out the door. I slide my finger across the screen of my phone and I see that I've missed no calls or texts from Fin. What the hell is occupying her time? A name springs forth but a punch it back as hard as I can. I will focus on her dating life after the ceremony.

Walking into the garden is like walking back in time. Zoey stands in the center of a circle with Erin, Shaunee, Damien, Stevie Rae spread out around her. Numerous others surround the circle and smile appreciatively at my entrance. Zoey nods once and I break into verse on command. Once the poem is said, my duty is fulfilled. And I see it as such.

I recite with the necessary feeling, but it is not with my usual verve. I know only two will notice. And I hope that they have the decency to let it go. I finish and fade back into the crowd as Zoey vaults into her normal spiel. I fix my eyes above her head on a smooth tree branch. I think of my daughter and her son. Of how Finley spoke of him dismissively. I don't trust it. My soul tells me there is something Finley is omitting, and if she is failing to tell me then she was failing to admit it to herself. We are one, my daughter and I. Sure, normal teens _don't_ confide it all to their fathers, but we are not normal. We are Nights. Who cares for normal? I know I've put more friendship on her than fatherhood, but I can't help it. I needed a friend more than I needed a daughter. So it was convenient to expect more from her all along. And she has risen to the occasion, blessing me with her camaraderie. The harmony of our relationship allows for honesty so I am unused to her inability to keep the communication lines open.

My wrist flicks over involuntarily, displaying my watch. I check the time then refocus on the smooth white bark.

Zoey still continues to ramble.

Good gracious, woman! What is possibly left to say that you have not allowed your tongue to express? I feel like she has swallowed a dictionary and is bent on spewing every word before allowing us to leave in peace.

"And finally, the Tulsa House of Night is in need of a new drama teacher as Master Welles as decided to spend time with his various muses…" Zoey allows her eyes to linger in my direction before bowing to the congregation. "It was an immense blessing see each and every one of you again. Shall we meet again at the next solstice?" She smiles while everyone agrees. "Then, merry meet again!"

The dismissal was easy and normal. It was as if she hadn't just made an impossible suggestion. One that there was no way I could take and that I could never fully shut out of my mind.

I could feel two pairs of eyes trained to either side of my face. Neither were welcome and neither was satisfied by my expression.

* * *

**Finley**

As I swipe the canvas with gray paint splashes, I could feel the inspiration emptying its heavy self from my veins. When it strikes, I have nothing else to do than expel it creatively—pour it out from within. I can't describe the relief I feel as I paint just now. It's something like that feeling you have after needing to sneeze for fifteen minutes and finally as you feel like your body might just explode, you sneeze. Your body bursts but it's a comfort to finally be done with the detonation. Then you are put into one piece again and can move on. Yeah, it's something like that.

I hated to leave Alden like that. But he's an artist, he'll understand. As I paint his hands over the gray spotted canvas, I feel at home. This is right. This is where I should be after the days I've had.

His hands are open, palms up, not clinched like I would normally have drawn them. Before this night, I would have depicted him with fisted hands, knuckles white and tense. Now, they are soft and gentle but firm as they reach forward. Expectant and generous.

My phone vibrates at my feet for the sixth time, so I detach my iPod and reach down to see who is shattering one of my cardinal rules: "Do not call in immediate successions. If I am not picking up, there is a reason. And no it's not that I'm dead, and if it were what would calling seventy times even do to help me? I'm dead!"

I flip over the cell phone and see my dad's picture smiling back at me. What the hell? He, of all people, _knows_ how I feel about this. But, I'll agree that because he knows my rules that it must be important enough to drive me bonkers.

"Hello?" I answer, not bothering to keep the annoyance from my tone.

"Oh? Daughter of mine? Sweet child of my loins?" His voice drips with the same exact annoyance that saturated mine.

"Don't say loins, it's weird."

"Sweet child of my sperm?"

"Ugh, way worse, Dad," I balk.

"Well, I'll stop being disgusting if you agree to pick up your phone every once and a damn minute."

"Alright. I'm sorry. I've been painting. You know how I get when I paint."

"For three days?"

"Well, alright. For today, I've been painting. Before that… I was dealing with some things."

"Some _things?"_

"A party… and some aftershocks of said party."

"Please, tell me there was no pregnancy tests that count for aftershocks."

"Oh, please. What type of girl do you think I am?"

"That's not my concern. It's the type of miscreant males dominating that school that concern me. Did you wash your hands after touching any of them?"

I roll my eyes. "You are such a weirdo. I'm sure I could bring home the Prince of England and you'd be convinced he was a sociopathic cross-dressing clown."

"Depends on which prince you'd bring home. William is a delight."

I laugh loud and long, then decide to settle into a chair. I'm sure my dad will not be letting me get back to my painting anytime soon. "Yeah, well, the Brits care too much for tea for my liking. Give me coffee and give it to me black."

"That's my girl. Now, back to these shocks. Anyone I need to be slandered across the media? Hit by a paparazzi car? Cornered by Lady Gaga? That's the worst punishment I've ever had to sit through in my long, wonder—"

"Okay Dad, I get it," I chuckle. "You want to know about the issues I've had at the House?"

"Oh, did you decipher that thinly veiled hint?"

"Slightly."

He laughs once and I go on.

"So… I was having some issues with a boy."

"Name," he demands.

"Alden."

He exhales.

"Shut up. So I arrange a party. It's great. Drama ensues. I distance myself from the drama. I came home and worked out the drama."

"Thank you for the bullet points. Now I would like names and specifics."

"Specifics are unnecessary. But I could be dating Alden Redbird at the moment."

Silence.

"Dad?"

"I'm sorry, I may have had a coronary. Tell me, is bleeding out of the ears a symptom? Hurry, look it up on WebMd."

"Seriously? He's a good guy, Dad."

He pauses for a long minute and I know that he is working out his best prosecution. "Okay. I'll take your word for it. What was this drama and how did you distance yourself from it?"

Ugh. What I was _not_ looking forward to explaining. There is literally no way for me to talk around it without my dad knowing what I'm doing. _And_ there's no way for me sugarcoat it. So I tell him. The whole bleeding story.

"So, you're_ dating_ this fellow? He sounds like a peach."

"He made mistakes. So did I."

"What mistakes have you done that even compare to that, Fin? You're a good girl! You'd _never_, I mean_ never_ use a boy like that. You're better."

It's here where I feel that crack. My heart feels like it had frozen over from when I omitted what had happened between Thatcher and I. I locked up that information and froze it, hoping that in no time or place would I ever need to unlock and share it. It was wrong. It was monstrous. I know my father would never accept Alden based on the things he'd done. But maybe, if he knew we all made mistakes. We were all users. He'd understand. I could feel the ice cracking and the secret about to spill forth and I prepared for the deluge.

"Dad, we aren't all better. We aren't all good and sweet. Sometimes we mess up. Sometimes _I_ mess up."

A beat of quiet. "What happened?"

I could feel the room around me crack as I waited to spill my sin. To expel it from my body. "I chose to distance myself from the issue by sleeping with a friend." I pause and wait for the room to stop exploding. "I slept with Thatcher Redbird, Alden's half-brother."

What in the hell led me to explain my sex life to my father? I squeeze my forehead in my hands. No tears come, but I wish for them. To somehow wash me of the situation. Baptize me; so that my father and I could each forgive. But none come. There is no forgiveness for me. I am stained.

* * *

**Selene**

With two things checked off my list, I move onto number three. Alden.

Walking across campus, I can hardly keep the skip from my booted step. Today will finally be on my terms. I am taking control—commanding this parade and making it my own.

Finley may have won the first round, but this war is not done. She is not unbeatable. I know that Alden thinks she is a sweet, precious thing. That she's incapable of wrong. But he doesn't know what I know. He doesn't know _her_. He doesn't know that she marched right out and did the first thing that invited her into bed. And he doesn't know that that first thing was his brother.

I'm sure she needed a little post-coital cuddling and headed straight for Alden's. I am also sure she didn't share that her first romp was a couple blocks over. Man, that girl has got balls. I mean, what a night! Both brothers! She has a huge amount of energy, that's for sure. Maybe after this, in some alternate reality, we could share tips.

Doubt it. I'd rather slit her throat.

I smile at the stars. It's a beautiful night and I feel at peace. The Tulsa House is my home. I own this place and command all that goes on. It's finally feeling right again. I see Alden's studio light is on. How convenient! I won't have to walk any further. He's right here waiting for me! This is perfect. He kicked her out_ or _maybe did her and left her one of those precious little "I'm sorry" notes. If that's what happened this whole plan is unnecessary and I could just drop the effort.

No. I laugh to myself. It'll be fun nonetheless. And she pissed me off, so she deserves everything headed her way. Heads will roll.

I head inside the first set of doors and hear a voice that I was not hoping to hear.

Finley. Man, that sound is nothing more than splinters to my eardrum.

I'm about to turn around, when I realize she's alone but talking. I peek around the corner and see she's sitting in Alden's chair, laughing on the phone. What a presumptuous, slut! She's acting like this is _her_ studio!

"You are such a weirdo. I'm sure I could bring home the Prince of England and you'd be convinced he was a sociopathic cross-dressing clown." She laughs into the phone.

Who is she talking to? She crosses her legs and stretches. She continues to talk while I try to figure who she's speaking to. I doubt she has friends that she calls just to catch up with from London. I haven't even heard her mention one person from outside this House.

"So… I was having some issues with a boy." Her tone is suddenly serious.

I allow my ears to prick at her voice.

She says Alden's name.

"Shut up. So I arrange a party. It's great. Drama ensues. I distance myself from the drama. I came home and worked out the drama."

I am about to turn around, because her conversation is incredibly boring, but she says something so excruciatingly disgusting, I decide to stay, just to learn specifics.

"…I could be dating Alden Redbird at the moment." She whispers.

I think I am going to throw up in this foyer. But I listen harder.

"Seriously? He's a good guy, Dad."

She's talking to her _dad_?

Then, she does something ridiculously strange. She tells him absolutely everything that happened at the party. It's almost too much to hear the words that Alden said to her. He told her he _loved_ her? It's enough to make me turn around and walk straight up to the Eastern tree and hang myself. But again, it's her own words that force me to stand in my spot and continue eavesdropping.

"Dad, we aren't all better. We aren't all good and sweet. Sometimes we mess up. Sometimes _I_ mess up." She clutches her face in her hands and at one point, acts like she heard something when I stepped in to hear more, but decides she doesn't care and keeps talking.

Is she going to confirm that she stayed at Thatcher's? Do I have the proof I need? Was it worth it to hear of every awful and painful thing that Alden said to her if I finally know that she slept with Alden's brother?

"I chose to distance myself from the issue by sleeping with a friend."

I pull out my phone and press record.

"I slept with Thatcher Redbird, Alden's half-brother." She folded over, holding her arms around her chest.

_Yes. It is worth it. It was all worth it._


	15. Admissions

_**Okay, I know this is a little shorter than usual... But guess, what? I don't do filler. AND I'm already working on the next chapter. SO, if you decide to leave a bazillion comments I may just put it up tomorrow! But that's only up to you guys!**_

_**I hope you enjoy! If you don't let me know, otherwise I can't do anything about it! You guys are great-- r.r!**_

_**Song suggestions for this chapter: "How You Mend a Broken Heart" Al Green and "Young Adult Friction" Pains of Being Pure At Heart**_

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**Alden**

"Hello brother," murmurs the voice swathed in darkness.

I jump at the sound and roll off of the bed, hurtling myself into a defensive stance in one motion. I'm ready for a fight but am hindered by two things: one, I'm sleep-drunk, and two, I am still reeling from the realization that Finley hadn't stayed the night. She_ left_. I just don't understand.

I command myself to focus first upon the voice and secondly upon Finley's abandonment. I spin around and search for the origin of the voice.

"Relatively decent protective positioning. It could be improved if you'd raise that left arm a little to defend your face."

"Thatcher?" I ask, now facing the dark corner that his black leather shoes are peeking out of.

He adjusts his position and leans into the light. He jingles my key in front of my face and tosses it onto my mattress. "Under the welcome mat, really?"

I feel my eyebrows furrow in annoyance. "I don't have a welcome mat."

Thatcher shrugs his squared shoulders and chuckles. "Yeah, it was a good try though. I got that one off your keychain, so you'll want to put it back on there later."

I snatch it from the bed and look at him sternly. "How the hell did you get in here?"

He laughs again and settles back into the shaded corner. "What kind of warrior would I be if I couldn't get into a locked room?" He chuckles again and in a feigned serious voice adds, "what if there were dying children in there?"

I've never seen Thatcher like this, manic and strange. I step towards him and take in his full position. He's wearing his standard Sons of Erebus uniform—black shirt, black pants, black shoes. That's not what is ringing discordantly. Thatcher's face is usually the home of a warm, annoyingly easy smile—today it's atypical. His face is tight, like he's grinding his teeth into splinters. His eyes are flinty, like they are waiting to ignite an explosion. His arms held like grenades against his chest. I'm unused to this new person—one that I feel I need to constantly brace for storm of rage. "Okay…" I answer far too late. "What leads you to breaking and entering into my humble abode?"

Thatcher's light hair catches in the light as he leans forward. He's smiling a harsh smile that looks made from concrete. "Just checkin' in on my little brother."

I pull my shirt over my head and walk to the refrigerator and pull a Nalgene bottle from inside and take a long drink. "So, I hear brotherly instincts usually develop around age two." I check my watch. "I think you're about seventeen years late, give or take a couple months and a few days."

He laughs so hard he claps his hands in front of him. Thatcher continues to guffaw and point at me until he wipes some tears from his eyes. Then, like someone pushed an off button, he stops. His face is devoid of emotion and I have never been so afraid of anyone in my life. "You're right about the brotherly whatever and all. I just want to make sure you're not going to be a douche to Finley." And that was it, matter of fact and plain.

I cross my arms across my chest and stare at my brother. We are so different, but at times I see our similarities. It's like when I stare at a canvas before deciding what to paint. I see the picture, flickering just slightly under the surface. It glimmers and disappears in a second—but I get a glimpse of the truth. Just like now.

How unswerving we are to our convictions. How we would fight for an idea. We would die for whatever we feel an ounce of passion for. And the way I feel about Finley is what is leading him to say these words to me. If only he could see that my feelings for her are just as strong as his.

But how do I do that? How do I make him remember me the way I was when I was five? Before my life was completely ruled by fear. But you can't explain fear to someone who's never known it. Fear dominates every part of me—Finley has made me see that. I'm too afraid to be who I am; too afraid to explain why I am this way; too afraid to ask forgiveness for fear I won't receive it. This panic has become a neurosis that molded and shaped my adult personality. It became so engrained inside of me that this became who I was and how I treated the world.

I know that changing this perception will never be complete. No one will ever truly forget who I am… or was. But I know that if I want to be with Finely then I will have to fight this every minute until the world is convinced. And if this fight has to start here and now with my brother…then let's get to it.

I fight every sarcastic twitch in my brain to speak kindly and calmly to Thatcher. "I love her, man."

The surprise on his face is immediate. He twitches back into his mask of concrete within seconds, but I catch a flash of anger as it subsides. "I don't know why you think that you need to say that to me. Just by dropping those three words to me isn't going to get me to drop her panties."

I thrust my hands into my hair in frustration. "Shit, Thatcher! I don't want that. I haven't even made out with Finley yet! I just want _her_. All of her, because I'm selfish. Because she makes me remember what it was like to be five and invincible! Because I'm afraid that if I lose her I'll just slip back into the asshole spiral I've been in for the last ten years." I stop and look at Thatcher. His eyes are trained on mine and intense. "She's too good for me. And I have no idea why she picked me. I'm sorry, I really am. She should have chosen you. You don't think I know that? That I don't think it every time I see her smile at me? _You_ are the good one. I am the screwed up bastard! Sometimes… I want her to just go and be with you, but then that bastard part of me screams at me to shut the hell up." I pace the room. My body stops abruptly and my eyes involuntarily land on the painting of Finely's lips that I had painted the night that she had ran into the tree and I had watched her sleeping. I had known then. "Remember when we used to pretend that we were warriors and we used to hide in the trees at Woodward Park?"

Thatcher nods woodenly.

"We used to climb as high as we could and throw sticks down like they were arrows. Remember how you used to tell me I was climbing too high? That I would fall if I climbed past the branches that were skinnier than my legs? Then one day I decided you were just being an asshatted no-it-all and I climbed up even further. And I fell. _You_ were the first person I saw in the hospital. You were the only one I was ashamed to have upset."

He looks off into the corner. Shielding his face full of emotion.

"After that, I was scared of everything. I boxed myself up and shut it all down. My life became like falling out of that damn tree. Everyone had the potential to hurtle me to the ground. I knew I would fall again and that I would disappoint everyone. So I just embraced it all with a masked smile. If I am an ass you can't be upset when I fall. You expect it."

Thatcher stands up abruptly and walks to the door.

I'm standing stock-still. Frozen in my outpouring.

He opens the door and exits without a word. I stand and stare at the place that his pinched shoulders had vacated.

* * *

**Erik**

"I slept with Thatcher Redbird, Alden's half-brother."

Fin's voice bounces around inside my brain, with each hit, ricocheting off each lobe, setting new emotions aflame. I'm angry, sad, upset, ashamed, and afraid. I can't pick just one feeling; I've got them all washing over me. Why wasn't I there to keep this from happening? Why hadn't I trusted my instincts with this whole situation? I shake my head once and try to end the silence that I know is plunging my daughter into her own personal purgatory.

"Fin…" I begin, still searching ravenously for the correct words. "I used to date Zoey Redbird."

She hiccups on the end of the line. "Okay… what?" She asks, obviously confused by this random fact.

"Yeah, when I was at the House. I loved her. She's the only person I've ever been _in love_ with." Saying this fact aloud just forces my memories further into my consciousness. I see Zoey's smile, her laugh, her empathy.

"Really?" Finley replies, tears slowing.

"Yes, really. Totally messed me up." Then I see her antipathy for my feelings. Her inability to see beyond her own desire. "For years I was still reeling over that relationship." I laugh to myself. "Hell, I'm still reeling." She doesn't respond, just waits for more. I oblige. "We dated for a couple of years, on and off. We were young, she was the new up-in-coming thing, I was the star actor. Thank you very much. And then James Stark strolled in and changed everything. Sure, Heath was always a problem, but Stark was just different. He had some strange way about him that intoxicated her. Made her forget that I was even around."

"Who's Heath?"

"I'm assuming Thatcher is Heath's son. He was Zoey's human consort—her old high school boyfriend before she was Marked."

"What happened to him?"

"No idea." This thought pulls me up short. I think of how self-centered I'd been all along, thinking I was the only one affected by Zoey and Stark's strange relationship. What had happened to Heath? Had he even made it out alive? I'd never even inquired.

"So, how'd you guys break up?"

This question knocks me back into the conversation. "We just ended. Not well, of course. I couldn't handle it. I wanted her to myself and she wasn't willing to let that happen. I wasn't good enough to be the main course."

"That blows."

"Well, it's what happened. I spent the next years of my life searching for an ounce of what I felt—against my will—for Zoey."

"Did you find it?"

"Of course not. And I used countless girls in the search. But one happy mistake became the greatest joy of my life." I pause and chuckle. "Strange how the wind blows your mistakes into solutions when you feel that you cannot possibly endure one more hardship." The truth of this statement is palpable. I wish I had Finley here to hold and assure. I want to tell her she's good despite this mistake. That she is deserving of love and kindness. She is better than the miscreants that have made her feel pain so torturous that she has acted out of fear and disgrace. But I know that she isn't a porcelain doll-- she is real and flesh. Mistakes make her human. It's time I remember this.

"Dad, I'm sorry about Zoey."

"Love totally blows."

She giggles and she's my little girl again.

"Good thing I'll be around to verbally lacerate the source of that blow-age."

"Excuse me?"

I laugh again and examine my plane ticket clenched in my fingers. "I'm coming to the Tulsa House. Apparently, my resume could use some fleshing out and "professor" is just what I was lacking."

* * *

_**Do with that what you will... But OBVIOUSLY, we are due for more Erik/Zoey/Stark drama! I hope you are excited to see the upcoming chapters. Preview: more Selene-Scheme, Loch's feelings on said Scheming, and we see where Thatcher's loyalties lie and how far he is willing to go for Fin.**_

_**Get ready friends. It's coming. And this is NOT the CW!**_


	16. The Unbearable Lightness of Being

**Here it is! I hope you like it.**

**Um, towards the bottom it get's a little spicy. So, use discretion. (i.e. if you're young avert your eyes.)**

**Song selection: "No One's Gonna Love You" Band of Horses **

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**Thatcher**

I had to get out of there. I felt myself slipping.

I was going to trip right into another one of Alden's lies. It's so easy. It's always been like this. He'd get into some trouble, his dad would chastise him, and I'd stick up for him—against my better judgment. And I'd be wrong. _I'd_ be the one who'd look like the asshole. They'd tell me that I should just go home and hang out with my dad, it was _their_ business. I wasn't a part of that family.

I shake my head as I walk briskly down the hall. I have to find her. Check in, make sure things are all right. She wasn't at his dorm, there had to be a reason for that. I peek my head around the studio corner and about smack foreheads with Selene.

"What the fu—" She screams.

"Is someone there?" Calls Finley.

"You shit-face!" Selene whispers angrily and runs out of the front door, stowing her phone in her back pocket. Before she leaps from the door, she turns and smiles a crazed smile.

"Hello?" Finley asks again, just outside the foyer doors.

"Hey," I reply and step through the door that crashes into Finley's left shoulder.

"Sheesh!" She exclaims and staggers forward.

I catch her quickly, just before she hits the ground. Her hair is piled on the top of her head like a bouquet of dark vines and her face is flushed in surprise. "I'm sorry to sneak up on you like this. I was just checking to see who was in the studios this early."

She smiles and untangles herself from my arms quickly. "I doubt that. This is Alden's studio. You knew that one of two people would be in here."

I shrug. "Clever assumption. I just came from Alden's, so I assumed you would be the one of two possibilities."

"You are correct."

I smile and a silence settles between us. I stare forward at her painting propped against a long wall. Hands seem to stretch out of the canvas. "I wanted to check on you." I add, once I feel the silence has stretched to capacity.

"Thanks," she replies and tucks at paintbrush into her back jean pocket. She studies me for a few moments then begins to say something and stops. Finley tries again, but her mouth snaps shut before a sound escapes. Finally, she says, "What did you and Alden have to talk about?"

I motion to the overstuffed chair beside me. "May I?"

She does a strange nod-shrug motion and I sit.

"Like I said, I was checking on you."

"You assumed I was at Alden's?"

Pain dances across my forehead, I can feel it in the furrowing of my brow. I try to smooth it out as I answer her. "You must think I am either unintelligent or unobservant."

Her face floods in chagrin and she falls into the seat opposite of me. "Thatcher, you _know_ I don't think either of those things. I've known you for like… a day. And I already think of you as my closest friend here. And believe me unintelligence and lack of perception are not things on my friend must-have list." She studies her folded hands and adds quickly, "But I didn't treat you like a good friend last night. And for that I am really, really sorry."

She's ashamed of last night. _Awesome_.That's what every male hopes to hear after an amazing experience. I blink rapidly as I try to think of something conceited and super macho to negate Finley's emasculating comments. _What would Alden say? _"Well, it's obvious that you regret our evening. So, I think I'll just lift some of that weight off of you and say that it wasn't a big deal. Nothing for you to think too hard about."

She bites her lip and nods.

I find myself nodding along with her to fill the silence. "Well, I think I am going to get out of here. You—are obviously fine. I am totally fine. We're all good."

"Thatcher!" She calls and is up, grabbing for my hands.

"Yeah?"

"Could you not say anything to anyone about me… being _with_ you last night?" She looks at our intertwined fingers and squeezes once. "I just haven't really told anyone and I don't want to be _that_ girl. You know? I'm _not_ that girl. So, I'd hate to start out that way here… And I think I am going to try things with Alden." She studies my face but continues, "and it's not going to get anywhere with this being our first—you know, fight?"

Torture. Hearing these words is comparable to someone opening up my abdomen and scooping it out with a spoon. Finally, I meet a girl that is easy to talk to, kind, talented, funny, smart, and sexy. The multifecta of the girl species. The kind that once you find, you hold on to and never let go. Well, this holy grail of females as latched on to my douche bag of a brother.

He may be preaching redemption, but I am not tithing. I don't believe a syllable of his evolution. He _will_ be the same person I've known my entire life. And sure, he may be "trying" to change. But transformation only comes through the altering of perspective. And that guy hasn't changed an iota of his self-centered ways.

She may last longer than the others. But it will still end the same. And if he holds onto her longer than the others, will the pain not just be that much more insidious? Most girls he breaks—but Finley will be irreparable. It would be unethical to sit by and allow this to happen.

"It won't come from me," was my only reply. I know that nothing I could say would change her mind. She had to see him for what he truly was—not with words but with pictures. She's an artist, a visual being.

I'll show her what she needs to see.

* * *

**Lochlan**

My phone vibrates for what seems like the sixty-seventh time before I toss off one of the constraining arms from my chest. "Get up!" I below to the redhead cuddled up beside me. She stirs slightly but only burrows her head further into my pillow.

I toss off the other arm and elbow the brunette in the side. "Damn!" She murmurs and turns over. Why do I have to smash the heavy sleepers? They are always so much work afterwards.

I reach across and see Selene's text message flashing across the screen. **Wake up, I'm coming over. And have the decency to clothe whatever whores you've got in your bed. I'm so sick of seeing unwashed, naked skanks.**

I laugh to myself and toss the comforter that I've been hording across the girls. "Brand!"

A pile of blankets twitches at the sound of his name beside the couch. I see him pull the top sheet off his face and he stares up at me from the pallet on the floor.

"I feel wronged that you didn't enjoy my gift," I say tipping my chin toward the blond girl sprawled across the couch. "If I give you the hottest one, at least use her. If not, it would be good form to tell me ahead of time so we don't have any waste."

He runs his palms over his golden curls and blinks several times before replying. "Etiquette only applies to gentlemen, of which you are not. So shut the hell up."

I can't help but laugh as I walk over to answer Selene's impatient knocks.

"Evening," I say as I tie my robe around my body.

"Whatever." She rushes past me and collapses into my hounds tooth chair. "Remember how we had this 'plan?'"

She places finger quotes around plan, which pisses me off. I roll my eyes in response and give her the one-minute signal. I walk over to the bed and smack each of the girls on the ass and bellow: "_Get up_!" Both pairs of eyes open as if they were literally shocked. And within seconds they are up from the bed and out the door. Brand's wasted date is gathering her shoes as I grab her elbow. "I'll call you later," I whisper and she smiles and exits.

"You," Selene points at me. "Are. A. Pig."

I shrug and wave for her to continue. "Plan, get to the '_plan_.'"

Selene twists her overly glossed lips into a devilish grin. She takes out her phone and places it in the center of the table and presses a button. The next few minutes are filled with a strange one-sided conversation between Finley and someone else. These few minutes are ecstasy as I realize what complex value they hold. It is like I hold the formula for the atom bomb in my hands and I have too many options of who to throw it at.

I lift my eyes to Selene's aquamarine pupils that are dancing with sheer joy. "Well, I underestimated you. You do have quite the knack for sabotage."

"I am in the presence of evil," murmurs Brand.

"Shut up, B." Selene responds dismissively, pocketing the cell phone. "So, Mr. LaFont, what do you propose we do with this valuable little snack?"

I fold my fingers beneath my chin and ponder her question. My immediate response would be to blast the information from the loudspeakers, but I know this would be unwise. Bombs make the most damage if timed correctly and placed specifically. "We sit on it." I watch as Selene's face grows red with misguided anger. "Now, before you go all Thelma and Louise on me, just give me a second to explain why I am a little bit smarter than you on this." Her face relaxes and I continue. "Alright, if we plan this right this could be the only thing we ever have to do in this situation. We could completely finish this in one fell swoop—think atom bomb."

"There were two of those," Brand says with his hand across his face.

"Well, but the second was unnecessary. Just us being cocky sons' of bitches." I turn back to Selene. "And neither of us would be indicted. Imagine, we wouldn't have the fallout of being the instigators, just the kind-hearted souls who can no longer keep the truth to ourselves because _we just can't live with our selves any longer knowing that this duplicity is going on…_" My voice takes a supercilious tone as I see Selene's smile twist and match mine.

"So when?" She asks breathlessly.

"Give it time, hopefully by the end of this you'll be smart enough to know. First, we have to let Finley dig her own grave and I am pretty sure our big buff friend, Thatcher, will assist in the digging."

Brand exhales in frustration at the sound of Thatcher's name.

"Don't worry, mon frère. With this nugget of a plan we will surely be rid of Ben Hur also." I clutch his shoulder for emphasis.

"Because all your other plans have gone so well?" He asks, shaking me off. "I'm leaving. And if you send a prostitute to my door I _swear_ I'll make up a rumor so bad that _she_ wouldn't even touch you."

I nod and make a show of crossing my heart as he leaves. As the door slams behind him, I turn to look at Selene. "I haven't seen you this peaceful in years."

She giggles and throws one booted leg over the other. "Well, it finally feels like everything is falling into place!"

"It will—if we get this right."

Her eyebrows scrunch together as she gazes at me furiously. "There's something that has always bothered me, though…"

I roll my eyes at her ridiculous expression. It's like she's trying to cross-multiply oranges. "And what's that?" I ask incredulously.

"What's in it for you? Are you just a sick bastard that wants to see Alden in pain?"

I pour myself a mug of coffee and spice it with a little whiskey. "Why do you care?"

"I don't. I'm just curious."

I shrug and turn my back on her. There is no way to explain this a daft dumb ass. Her Swarovski crystals have more depth than she. Alden's relationship and mine is something more than her aggravated obsession—it is an abundant display of intricately woven mazes of emotion. Somehow, along the way, our competition swelled above normal male rivals. It has become my occupation—what I think of in my waking hours. I am consumed by Alden and finding the one way to end this and win, _forever._

"Fine. Ignore me… It's not like I'm saying you're in love with him or something."

I feel my body pulsate around her offhand comment. It strikes home and I shudder.

* * *

**Alden**

I'm still in my dorm.

Trying to decide what the hell to do. I know what old Alden would do. Actually. I totally don't. He would have never been in this situation in the first place. I'm such an ass! Never has a girl had this much power or validity in my life. I don't know what to do to make my world stop spinning in strange elliptical circles. I feel like I am going to throw-up if I don't get some sort of semblance of control back.

I throw on my shirt and march to the only place I trust more than my own room. As I walk, I chant the same thing in my mind over and over: _Finley is just a girl. It doesn't matter if she didn't stay. She's just a girl. She doesn't matter. Just. A. Girl._

As I am chanting, I open the door and see this girl, standing before a painting. Her back is to me, but I see the sweat glistening in the little dimples of her lower back. She wipes the sweat from her forehead and stares even harder at her canvas. Her curls are dark and shiny as the cascade around her face, unbridled and wild. Her cheeks are red and she bites her lips in concentration. She takes a few more seconds to peer at the canvas and then whips her brush across the surface and then smiles, wide and rampant.

She looks up and our eyes meet.

I can't stop the smile—believe I tried.

She grins. "I'm finished."

"What did you paint?" _Stop talking to her you moron!_

"You." She blushes even more and looks down at her paint stained fingers. "Well, your hands."

I'm thrown back into my body. I feel my consciousness running around my brain in a dance of delirium as I allow myself to love her again. I step around her to look at her painting.

Two hands. Outstretched and very detailed. They are _my_ hands.

"This is beautiful," I whisper.

"You're so vain," she replies in the same tone. "Of course you'd think your own hands were beautiful." She wraps her fingers around my belt loop and pulls me towards her.

"You misunderstand me." I reach my hands up into her hair and cradle the back of her head. "You made me that way. The way you see me is unexpected."

"I see you the way that the world _should_ see you. If you'd just let them."

I chuckle a short, ironic laugh. "I think you're going to have to teach me."

She presses her chin to her shoulder and thinks for a moment before saying. "You know, I think I can devote time to that. I always wanted to put 'tutor' on my resume."

"Life coach?"

"Even better." She lifts herself on to her tiptoes and drifts her lips to mine.

Her kiss is light and kind. But I am hungry and want more than could possibly be given, ever. I know that with this girl I will never be full. I will always be starving for her attention. The affection that we share is something that will never fill the hollow in my heart—but I have to try. Because filling myself of her is the only joy I've ever known.

I hold her as tight as I can as I breathe her in. The curve of her body rests upon mine so perfectly it is like we were cut from corresponding slabs of marble.

I can't help it; I need more than this embrace. I let my eyes dance down to hers and tilt my chin to the door. "Do you want to go back to my room?"

She opens her mouth but I cut her off.

"That sounded like a line… I didn't mean for it to—"

"Alden, I don't care. I would literally go anywhere with you right now and pretty much after any line too. Minus that Heaven one because it's just _that_ bad."

I can feel my smile as it tugs the edges of my muscles. It's wider than any smile I've ever had that it almost hurts. As we walk back, hands unable to detach from one part of either's body, the world is in a mist. We are literally the only two who matter. No one is present.

Hardly able to keep the speed from my step, I throw the door open to my room and whip her up into my arms. She giggles and slides her arms around my neck and holds fast. Fin presses her lips to my temple and we slide onto the bed. "I don't want more than you want to give." I say and press my forehead to hers.

"Good, because I'm feeling pretty generous."

She pulls me down onto her and I feel our bodies merge. All I can think of is her skin. My shirt is over my head and hers follows just as quickly. Our skin touches and I am on fire. The fire is a warm welcome thing, like I had been outside in the cold all my life and I finally know what it's like to be comfortable. The kisses she gives me are hot and open, breathing summer into my wintered life. She leaves them all over my body, starting from my forehead and dancing sporadically to my abdomen. My body answers her change in season with sweat.

Reaching my hands I grab her wrists and hold them above her head, signaling the end to her explorations. It's my turn. I want to make this a time that she will enjoy also. I press my face against hers and play games with her lips and tongue. She responds vigorously and I continue as I add my hands and kisses into her hair, her cheeks, neck and ears. The games continue as I travel down to her collarbone and stomach.

Her breath stops.

I reach my fingers to her face and I see her eye relinquish one tear. I kiss her eyes and fold her into my chest. "Finley?"

"Yes?"

"I kind of like you."

She laughs short and then her breath catches. "Then you better get going."

I stop her giggles with kisses and we begin again.


	17. Daddy Issues

_Yeah, I know. It's been like way, way, way too long. I apologize fore.. Seriously. I just got busier than I needed to be. So, if you don't want to read my story anymore, I understand... But I will say that next chapter is going to be twisty like always. Those of you who don't hate me and want to stick it out-- GET READY!_

_Anyway, thanks for the reminders that you guys still care! Let me know what you like, dislike, could care less about, and who you'd like to kill. Ha, just kidding. I know it's Loch and Selene. TOTALLY AN EASY QUESTION!_

_**Song suggestion: Take Care by Beach House**_

_Oh, by the by, Alden and Finley are just about to cute-me-to-death. So, sorry for that. I can't help it that they are like as cute as kittens with mittens!_

_

* * *

  
_

**Alden**

"Could you please make a little bit more noise? I'm positive that there isn't one piece of porcelain you haven't crashed into yet."

I whip around and watch Finley squint through her fingers. Her arm is across her openly frustrated face. I fill my mug and hers with coffee and chuckle as I walk to the mattress. "So, maybe we should come up with a new routine. You're not so much of an evening person."

She grunts and takes the coffee silently. After a few gulps of her coffee, she decides to grace me with a half smile. I'm thankful. "Evening. But I'm not saying it's _good_ yet."

I raise my eyebrows and shrug. "Hey, if you're going to be one of _those_ people I'll let you take your time."

Finley softens inscrutably and lets out a bark of laughter.

"What?" I gargle through a mouthful of hot liquid.

She points to the mug laced through her fingers. "Did you go to my dorm kitchen to get this?"

The black mug in her hand was covered in Old English with several nicks and scrapes around the rim. I saw her carrying it around to class the first day she attended classes. I dismissed her incredulous face and bounded up from my seat on the end of the bed. "So, do you think we should go to class today? Or would skipping a second… third? How many days have we been holed up?"

Finley sits up and throws her sable tresses over her shoulder. "Um, hello?" She waves her hand in front of her face as if to gain my attention—as if it isn't always on her. "Don't ignore me!"

Exasperated, I turn. "You obviously haven't figured out how I feel about you. Most likely, I could never ignore you—you're too damn irresistible. But yes, I did go get that for you this morning. Girls in your dorm are weird and like super-morning girls with an indescribable amount of chirpy, bird energy. I only have one mug, so I figured if I drank coffee in front of you it'd be rude not to offer you some." I peeked over my shoulder at her. Finley's smile was voracious. I gestured to myself and murmured, "_Polite."_

Her fingers surrounded around my neck and she kissed my cheek sweetly. "Sundance, you are a flush, but a well-trained one." She hugged me warmly.

"Flush?"

"Look it up." She took a long draw from her mug and smiled at my ignorance. "Oh, and yes, I think we _should_ go to class."

I rolled my eyes and grumbled, "My mom will be returning, so we might as well go to class."

"Speaking of parents, want to hear something interesting?" Finley hopped up on her knees and watched me with an air of disinterest.

She was wearing my Polo green and blue paisley button-down with several buttons lackadaisically undone. It was hard to focus on anything more interesting than that. But I tried. I nodded.

She mussed her hair and groaned. "Well, I'll tell you anyway. So, my dad told me that your mom and he used to date…"

"Weird." I paused and refilled my mug. "But I guess that makes sense. My dad get's really upset if my mom ever mentions Erik Night or wants to go to one of his movies."

"Yeah, they apparently were _pretty_ serious. Dad said he hasn't ever loved anyone else other than your mom…"

"Well, that's awkward. Do you think he'd feel weird about us?"

She smiled crookedly. "Yeah, he does. But he'll just have to get over it."

I focused my stare on her strange grin. "At least he doesn't live here. We shouldn't have to deal with much awkwardness."

Her lips contorted into a grimace. "Yeah, except he's taking a job to teach drama at the Tulsa House. He's arriving with your parents."

I wish I could say I choked dramatically, but I swallowed calmly. I couldn't see what this would mean for Finley and myself. I know it would make things quite a bit more captivating for the Tulsa House's gossip girls. I shook it off. "I'll do my best to win him over for you. I would ask the same of you—but my mom already likes you. It's that charm of yours."

Smirking, Finley set her mug beside the mattress. "In light of recent events," Finley reached down and unbuttoned one pearl fastener, "I think we should reevaluate this evening's schedule of events." Her finger descended upon the rest before I could breathe.

"But, we just discussed an…" I set my mug on the counter so that I could have full use of my hands. "Evening of studies?" I gripped my elbows like they were my lifeline.

She shook her head once, her finger trailed down to her bellybutton.

"But the professors are going to report to my mom…"

Her face folded into disgust.

"It's just that she's returning today… And with your _dad_ and it's obvious he's not a fan of you being with me... If they tell them that we haven't gone to class for days and no one has seen us because we are obviously—"

"Oh my word! Alden, if you could drop your pants, gently remove your tampon, and _be a man_, I would gleefully enjoy a night of debauchery with you."

I crossed my arms and felt my dimples jump from my cheeks. "Then you better set your mug at a safe distance. I can't be held accountable for what happens in the next few moments."

I threw my body against hers. Coffee washed every surface in waves, but her mug was safe.

**

* * *

**

**Finley**

"Good to see you," Eden says the second I open the door to our dorm room. I'm so focused on my own thoughts (i.e. replaying Alden/Finley sexy-time over and over and over and…) that her voice causes me to crack my forehead against the door.

"Ouch… Yeah, you too. How are you feeling?" I ask while rubbing my forehead. I walk across our newly cleaned room, marveling at the amount of cleaning Eden had to have done between her psychotic episode and now.

"I'm quite well, thank you." She replies, strangely detached, as if she has prerecorded this conversation.

I steal a look at her face where a plastic smile is super glued to her cheeks. It looks painful. I quickly realize I am staring so I thrust the first words I can retrieve from my brain out of my mouth: "How have your classes been?"

Her smile is still frozen; it just bends around her words in an eerie puppet-like way. "They were very informative. May I ask how yours were?"

_Okay, enough creepy-robot-roommate! _I drop my supplies onto my bed and hook my hands onto my hips in the most maternal stance I know. "What the hell, Eden? You are acting like super creepo!"

Her rebuff is a few seconds to late to be believable. "I'm sorry, am I acting oddly?"

My face contorts and I thrust my head backwards in a humorless laugh. "No, it's just like you were actually replaced by a plastic Barbie puppet and the guy who's running you is super weird." I pause and add in exasperation, "Or British—are you trying to sound British?"

This seems to crack her slightly. She lowers her head to stare at her nails and it droops slightly, and then rises, in actual laughter. Eden runs a red-fingered hand across her forehead and smiles at me. "I'm sorry," She guffaws. "I was trying to be nonchalant. But apparently, that's not working for me."

I collapse onto my bed. "Um, no."

She shrugs and her eyes turn sharp. "If I ask you questions and you agree to answer them—will you answer them honestly?"

"Of course."

"Where did you stay the day before yesterday?"

I swallow. "Thatcher's."

"Why?"

I lean forward and rest my eyes on hers. "I told you I'd give you privacy to deal with your _stuff_. I was going to go to a hotel but Thatcher wouldn't let me."

"Of course he wouldn't."

I try to hold her gaze but she breaks it quickly and straightens her cowl neckline.

"What happened between the two of you?"

"Why are you asking me this? Don't get me wrong—I'll answer, and honestly—but it seems to me, if you wanted to stay with Brand, this wouldn't matter."

"I _do_ want to stay with Brand."

"Then why dwell on something that is irrelevant? Besides, Thatcher is my friend, and that is _it_. This may be like the worst time ever for this…. but I am going to be the biggest effing girl idiot ever and date Alden. Go ahead. Tell me how stupid I am." I wave my hands toward my face, welcoming her insults with dignity. I then sit, staring at my hands, waiting for Eden to hurl insults at my intelligence but none come. Instead, she just tinkles a girlish laugh. I look up at her and she is wiping tears from her eyes with her pointer finger.

"You are an idiot. But who isn't when it comes to love?"

"Me, I've never been an idiot. But that's probably why I've never fallen in love."

"Poetic, Fin."

"What can I say—it's the mug."

She raises a confused eyebrow.

"Oh jeez! Tell me you haven't already forgotten the epicness of my Shakespearean Iambic Pentame—"

"Pentameter mug, I remember." She interrupts me with arms spread before her as if to literally stop me. "Please don't launch into it. We just renewed our friendship."

"A Frienissance, you might say."

A pillow hits me right in the face. "Ow! What kinds of beads are on that thing? Poison tipped steel spikes? Sheesh!" I turn the injured side of my face to her. "Do I have a scar? I think I might need some vitamin E to rub on it. That helps scars, you know."

"If you keep rambling I'll toss another one at you!" Eden yells taunting me with a pillow she now holds overhead.

I laugh and toss her dangerous weapon back at her. I can't help but feel incredibly relieved how easy this was. I can't pretend I had been worrying about my first interaction with Eden since the party—I've been distracted. But, this had gone way better than I had any hopes of. Granted, I had completely sidestepped her questions… which I am sure will resurface and I won't get off as easily again…. Instead of ruminating on this fact, I decide to celebrate. I had my friend back. Time to party, my life is friggin' awesome!

"Do you know what time it is?" I bellow at Eden.

She flips her wrist over and is about to answer the time when I interrupt her with one of my own, unbeaded-non-life-threatening, pillows.

"Beer thirty!"

"What?"

I tear off my white tank top and replace it with a more formal black v-neck. "Come on! We are partying! Have you spoken to Brand yet?"

Her face is incredulous as she watches me rip off my shorts and throw on some dark jeans and brown boots. "No…"

"Then what better time than completely honestly and inebriated?"

"I can think of lots of better times."

I run forward and pull her up by her wrists. "Nope!" I survey her outfit. Vintage Eden, white cowl neck shirt tucked into a black skinny jeans. I toss a retro floral shift at her and some fringed boots. "It's time for you to relax a little. And maybe Brand will then, too."

She looks from me to my dress she now clutches in her white knuckled hand and then back again.

"Come on," I nudge her again.

"Oh, what the hell!" Eden tears off her outfit and is dressed in Finley's finest in seconds.

"I'm calling Brand and he's going to see a new side of you he _never_ thought existed!"

* * *

**Lochlan**

There is so much preparation that goes into schemes. With any subterfuge, one has a decent amount of reconnaissance strategy, but this particular battle seems to be all but cut and dry. I have the sacrificial lamb. I have the bomb. I just have to decide the perfect time of Armageddon.

"It would be nice if you'd stop being such a mopey dipshit." I grumble to Brand. I watch my friend as he sits through yet again, another HGTV episode. "You're seriously starting to worry me about your sexuality. I can trade you roommates. I'm sure Aiden would take _any_ action."

"If you say one more word I swear I'll shove this remote up your—"

"Okay! Okay!" I jumped from the couch to avoid Brand's patented backhand. "I'm just saying, you have your own room to watch "ColorSplash" in. And mention of shoving things up places doesn't help your cause."

"Has it ever occurred to you that I might need a _friend_?"

I rolled my eyes. "Hey, Nancy?" His wan face turned to mine. "We're _men_, we don't need that ridiculous bullshit about comfort. We get even, we get vag, and we move on."

"It's like you're trying to prove your manhood." His hands covered the remote with white, tense knuckles. "It's disgusting."

"Thank you." I walk to my counter and pour myself a glass of scotch. "Now, for our evening, I have planned a delicious array of fine little morsels. You need only choose hair color and outfit and the evening is yours."

Brand sat silently.

I repeated my plan. Maybe he was just really into the ocean of colorful home decor.

Nothing.

"Yo! Rainbow Brite!"

"Dude," murmured Brand. "Finley just text me. She wants us to meet her at the pub downtown."

I downed my glass. "What the hell? What's the angle?"

Brand shook his golden head. "Should I go?"

"Not without me!" I exclaimed and clapped his shoulder.

He grinned. "What about your cornucopia of 'fresh morsels'?"

I rolled my eyes. "Watching whatever train wreck Ms. Night has planned will be _way_ more interesting than a night of cheap panties. And hell, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't watch this disaster?"

Brand waved his hand over his hair and whispered, "No friend of mine…"

I knew what this night would entail. Finley would try to preform Dr. Phil's job of relationship counselor by staging a relationship intervention for Brand and Eden, all the while making her formal debut with Alden. She assumes this will fix all of the issues drummed up by her new-girl-status. Little does she know, her little idyllic plan has a serious, perilous vulnerability. And I hold the flaming arrow trained on her achilles heel.


	18. Cry, Cry baby, Cry

_**Man, I know. I'm so sorry. I did it again. But here: take it. Write about what you hate and love. (HOPEFULLY you don't say you hate me.)**_

**_Music suggestion: Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks by the National_**

**_

* * *

_**

**Thatcher**

Here I was. Again. Becoming a regular at a strange pub. Drinking in the solidarity of the lonesome singles who litter the straight stools surrounding the bar. The mildly attractive bartender set another bottle before me and popped the cap. "Long day?" She asked interestedly.

"Long life."

Her face crumpled dramatically and she rested her dark elbows on the counter. "Baby, you're just startin' out. Is this really how you want to begin it?"

"Obviously not." I began peeling the label with distracted eyes and engaged mind. "But what can I do about it? You have to take what you're given, right?"

"Crybaby cry." She grabbed my empty bottles with one hand and gathered the discarded labels with the other. "And no, you don't have to take what you're given. You can toss it back and burn it to hell."

I felt my grin heat my cheeks. "Why are bartenders the best philosophers of our generation?"

"Because we philosophize to drunks."

My chuckle is drowned by a cacophonous group of kids throwing open the door and blinding the quiet inhabitants with street lamplight. Their jarring voices interrupted every internal and external conversation exchanged in the pub.

"Damn kids," murmured the bartender.

"Do they come in here often?"

"I've never seen these kids before."

The bustling herd inched closer and louder towards the bar.

I throw the bottle against my lips and drain it. As I am about to slam the empty glass onto the bar, I hear a voice that corks the last drops of lager in my throat. I'm choking on the girl I came here to forget. I numbed her voice only to have it shoved and unleashed in my weary mind.

* * *

**Selene**

This shit is getting annoying. If Loch is so damn happy to unleash our game changing information, then why is he so set on playing nice with Finley? If I have to smile somewhat charmingly in her direction one more time, I swear I will run across the bar (literally _on_ the bar) and rip her un-glossed lips from her face.

"I cannot _believe_ Alden and Finley are like together!" Shouts Blaise, drunkenly sloshing her LIT all over bar. "I mean, like _together_ together!"

"If you spill that drink on me again, I'm going to claw your eyes out." I smile sweetly. "Seriously."

"Gah, who salted your panties?" Blaise cups her sister's elbow and moves down the bar in distain.

I pick up my drink and walk over to Lochlan and Brand who are surrounded by a flock of groupies. Loch is elated at his party stance. He is at the nebulous of the party, encompassed with sluts but connected to the outer ring of drama. He has a first row seat to Alden and Finley and Thatcher, Brand, and Eden. This is his dream. He is more of a drama queen than I am.

"So, who wants to go flash the bartender to get more drinks?" He asks like the misogynistic pig he is.

The little one giggles and asks earnestly, "Isn't she a _girl_?"

"So?" Loch challenged and shoves her toward the bar.

I step to the crowd of air breasts and nod them away with a look.

"If you ruin this party for me I am going to be _so pissed_." Loch turns to me and drains his scotch.

"I will if you puss out on me." I raise my eyebrows challengingly.

He leaned forward and replied, "Ugh, you're such a buzzkill." He beckoned Blaise who alerted to his motion like a trained pit bull. "Good thing we have similar aspirations."

"Yes, Loch?" Blaise opened her large eyes in expectation for whatever Loch demanded.

"I need you to distract Brand for a bit."

Her smile twisted and she was gone.

"What does Brand have to do with anything?" I demanded.

"Hey, I am just looking out for my friend. If all of this shit is going to hit the colossal, rocket-sized fan, I'd like him to not be on the tarmac when it happens."

"Sine when do you care about anyone other than yourself?"

His eyes turned to flint, a warning. "You'd be surprised."

* * *

**Eden**

The crowded bar was stifling.

I felt like this baggy dress was strangling me in its floral fabric.

I'm not myself here.

Nothing was going as planned.

Thatcher was not supposed to brood in the corner with the slutty bartender.

Brand wasn't supposed to arrive in a cloud of mindless females directed by my puppet master brother.

Finley and Alden were not supposed to be the instant 'it' couple.

I clasped my water like it was my only lifeline. Why did Fin think this would answer all of my problems? This was the worst idea I'd ever allowed her to sweep me into.

The questions Selene planted in my mind and I had tried to stomp out were now sprouting and taking root. Maybe she was right about Fin. Maybe she was not trying to be my friend. Maybe she had no other thoughts than ones for herself. "Why is a pretty girl like you drinking water?" An unidentified voice breathed at my shoulder.

"Uninterested." I replied.

"Hey, you didn't even give me a chance!" His hands are now on my bare arms.

"Seriously, not going to happen."

His fingers dug into my shoulder. "Why don't you stop being a bitch and at least give me a once over, okay?"

I reacted quickly and looked at his angry face, but nothing other than a frown registered before a hand reached out and slammed into his cheek.

"I think she gave you her answer, ass-hole." Thatcher bellowed over the guys already swelling face. He turned to me and examined my shoulder. "You okay?"

The side of my lips twitched once. "Yeah."

"Ha, me too." He motioned to the seat beside mine. "May I?"

I shrugged. I could feel Brand's eyes immediately focused upon Thatcher and my proximity. I bet he had even seen Thatcher's whole white prince routine. I should feel upset or anxious or something… but I don't. I am relieved by his closeness. I _missed_ it.

"You guys are too young to be in here, you know?"

"Going to arrest us and drag each of them back to the House?"

"Obviously, I'm waiting for back-up."

I hold up my glass of water. "I'll help. I'm super hydrated."

He chuckled in the way I recognize. "I don't think hydration is going to help you with this crew of belligerent drunks."

"They are drunk, just tipsy."

"Which makes it more difficult."

"True."

Silence falls between us while I spin my glass in its halo of condensation.

"So," he begins awkwardly, "Finley and Alden are an 'item'."

"'Item,'" I mock, "What are you, 45?"

"I'm old fashioned. You know this better than most."

"True."

"What does this mean for you and Brand? Will you need to launch a smear campaign to regain Hottest-Couple-in-the-House-of-Night?"

"Blue and I have been soiled since the Alden debacle a few nights ago…"

Thatcher grimaced. Did he react to Brand's mention or Alden's? "I'm sorry about that. Have you two spoken?"

"Not once."

"Have you tried?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I'm relatively positive he'd like to break up with me when we talk… So I am just delaying the meeting so that I'll be able to handle it when it happens."

"You say relatively positive, but that's not sure."

"98%."

"There is still a 2% margin of error there."

I shrug.

"Do you want to be together?"

My mind falters as I imagine he means us… But I know what he means.

"With Brand, I mean?" He adds quickly.

"Of course."

"Then talk to him." Thatcher reaches across and pats my arm like a brother. Like I was a five year old who just tripped and scraped her knee.

* * *

**Erik**

My plane landed easily and routinely. Who would think that I was back in the place I had fled like an exiled murderer? I'm back. And I feel peaceful about it.

There were two things that eclipsed all other problems… and yet were the source of most of the issues.

Finley and Zoey.

I can't help but ignore the negative and focus solely on my childlike expectations of what could come from this move. How could anyone not acknowledge the romanticism of this recklessness? I am here. I am taking my future between my palms and chucking it into the horizon. I will make this time successful. Ceasing to just get by, I am pushing forward to find my own happiness. With or without Zoey.

I couldn't care less about Stark and his angry eyes and mean arrows. This is far greater than anything his small mind could formulate as 'important.' This love is what Shakespeare drew from. This tenacity would pale any meager fable of true love. I will show Zoey that there are no others who could stand beside me and claim to adore her with same zeal.

I am hers.

Little else matters.


	19. Accuser Abuser

Next installment... I think there will only be a couple of more chapters before we finally say goodbye to our new friends. Please, READ and REVIEW! I know there are so many things I need to improve. SO LET ME KNOW!

Song Suggestion: Why Do You Let Me Stay Here by She & Him

* * *

**Finley**

"So, this is weird for me…"

"What is?" Alden turned his face to me, giving me the full force of his ever-changing eyes. Right now his irises were melting into a turquoise hue from his fathomless green. I could see the apprehension flooding into his features, dragging cyan pigments into his eyes.

I waved my hands between us and then motioned to the greater area of the room. "Being a 'couple' in front of… everyone."

His face scrunched around the harsher meaning he obviously deciphered to be hidden behind my words. "Which means what, per se?"

I gripped his forearm to try to pull him back into a non-neurotic reality. "Which means I've never really been in a relationship like this before. Nothing deeper than that." I gave him a soft squeeze. "I'm glad you're walking me through it."

Alden's face unclenched instantly. "Wow, so this is what it feels like."

"Which means?" I asked, eyebrow up, in my best Alden impersonation. I shoved my hands into my pockets for good measure.

He grabbed my forearm as I had held his and leaned into me. "I just…" He hesitated and bit his lip nervously. Alden looked over his shoulder and leaned in closer. I could feel his breath on my ear as his lips brushed my hair. "Need to use the restroom." His grin ignited his face and he let out a loud chuckle.

I felt my face fall into his angular cheek as I exhaled in exasperation. I pushed off of him in disgust. "You d-bag!"

Alden was already walking towards the bathroom, but I could see his shoulders shaking with guffaws.

I rested my elbow on the bar and traced swirls in the water droplets that garnished the inky wood like constellations in a summer sky. For the first time in my life, I was tempted to trace my initials with a slightly different ending. I refrained, but the thought, the mutinous, slanderous, loser-ous thought teased me from the corner of my brain.

I am so deliriously happy to be with someone like Alden. But I couldn't shake several accusing thoughts that played hide and seek in the crevasses of my mind. I imagined the indictments taking shape. A strange caricature burst forth and began bellowing condemnations.

The Accuser: "Hey, Mildred, are you sure you're ready to settle down and let this guy be 'it'? Let's be honest. You are young. You are at the top of your game. And girl, you got a long, long life ahead of you. Are you going to waste it on _one_ guy? You had fun. He's awesome. But once you've had the top dog, it's time to move on to higher mountains with elevated canines… with new scenery… and shinier collars… and diamonds."

Me: "What the hell? I am young. And you're right I _do_ have a long life ahead of me. So why in the love of all things super hot and sexy should I let go of Alden after only dating for a couple of days? Hell-O, brother is fine. Yeah, I'm not saying it's necessarily in my nature to be monogamous, but I can enjoy a kid for a while. And the top dog metaphor should never be mixed with mountains or diamonds and still be considered a convincing tactic. So shut the hell up."

The Accuser: "Sure, you've only dated him for a couple of days. This relationship feels light and airy. You guys don't use the _L-word_. Alden doesn't act like he would quite literally hang from the rafters in a Picasso-esque stupor trumpeting his arduous adoration of your left pinky. And point taken on the mountain-dog metaphor."

Me: "So what if things are progressing quicker than a normal relationship? We are artists… that allows a little leeway in the melodramatic market. And Picasso was kind of hot in a weird way. So suck it."

The Accuser: "You're ignoring the obvious outcome of your pleasant little romp. You are going to break his heart in a very public, inoperable way. There I said it. Suck on _that_."

Me: "No, our relationship is balanced. We are very equal in our feelings."

The Accuser: "Yes, sure. Replay the past couple of days where he put his entire life on hold to just get you to acknowledge him. Totes balanced."

Me: "You're wrong. We just had a lack in communication."

The Accuser: "Besides the fact that he loves you and you are just meh about him, I'd like to remind you of past storm clouds you seem to have forgotten. Exhibit A: _YOU SLEPT WITH HIS BROTHER! _Oh, and Exhibit B: You've kind of lied about it. TWICE… Oh, and there's that whole he did your roommate for angry-jealous sex."

"Fin, what are you doing?" Alden waves his hand in front of my face vigorously.

I snap from my mental argument and force an awkward grin. "Ha." I fake. "I guess I was in a daze."

Alden wraps his arms around me and pulls my body into his. "I'd like to apologize for playing that joke on you earlier."

I pull back and look at him. "Why?"

"At the time I thought it'd be funny. But when I was thinking about it, I realized that I don't ever want to make you feel upset or sad or anything." He presses his lips to my forehead and exhales.

I push away from him. Hard. "Dude, you've got to calm down. Jokes are funny. Fights happen. This is getting super serious. Super fast." I step backwards into an off-balance girl and she stumbles into another anonymous person who had shown up to the pub via Blaise's massive invite blast. "I just need to step away. Outside. Somewhere. Else…. To breathe."

Alden's face curled around silent entreaties.

The Accuser cackled. I flipped her off.

* * *

**Thatcher**

"But don't you think I should let him come to me?" Eden paused and brushed the hair from her glossed lips. "I mean, what if he doesn't want to even see me?"

I allowed a generous smile to play around my lips. I love how sweet Eden is. I'd forgotten that trait.

A dark blur distracted me from Eden's pale face.

Finley's form jetted from the bar and through the door in seconds. Ignoring all bodies in her way, she shoved past them like she was being chased by the devil. My eyes automatically shifted to the spot she had vacated so quickly, Alden stood, a statue of utter confusion. His face was frozen in astonishment.

_What has he done now?_

_How could I have let this happen?_

_It has only been 48 hours! Is it possible he has already shattered her tiny heart?_

Eden had followed my eyes. Her face was understanding and she nodded once to the door.

I kissed her cheek and bolted from my stool.

I found Finley in an unlit corner of the parking lot pacing. Her hands were atop her head, positioned like she had just run a marathon.

"As a security officer, it is never recommended for young, pretty girls to do their best pacing in unlit and sparsely populated areas."

Her face snapped up to meet me. Her hands dropped and she ran to me in a few strides. Finley threw her arms around my neck and held me tightly. I wish I had been ready for this embrace, but I was stunned. Finally, my arms recognized her touch and my brain commanded them to answer her body with a warm squeeze.

"I'm so glad you're here, Thatcher. I just…" She paused and pulled back to look into my eyes. "Am, so ridiculously confused."

"Confused?"

She dropped her arms and began pacing again. "Yeah, I mean… I don't know how to deal with this… this relationship is like moving so fast! I mean, come on! We've only been together for like a day and I feel like I have to tell him all the things I've ever done. It's like I _owe_ him. I've never felt like I don't belong only to myself! I don't want to _have_ to be connected to someone… Not yet. Do you know what I mean?" Her head swivels and snaps to focus on my reaction. She was pleading for understanding.

Alden hadn't taken a cleaver to her heart. He was actually trying to be a decent boy friend. And she couldn't handle it.

My life continues its suck spiral.

I grimaced. "I understand. In my experience, the best policy is always honesty. If it's too much, tell him. He'll back off."

"Doesn't that like blow, hard, to hear?"

I laughed a rough, humorless laugh. "Sure."

She flinched.

"But it's better than being walked out on…"

She flinched again. "Touché."

Finley kissed my cheek and bolted from our moonless spot in the parking lot.

* * *

**Alden**

Finley just sprinted away from me like I had leprosy.

Thatcher followed her.

My brother is such a saint.

I ordered a double.

"Troubles in paradise?" Loch's fingers gripped my shoulder. "So soon?"

I killed my glass and slammed it onto the bar. "You saw it I'm sure, otherwise you wouldn't ask."

"You know me so well." He turned and waved the swarm of following females away with a hand. "You're better for it, Aldie my boy."

"I doubt that."

His face contorted into his deafening smile. "She got you good, didn't she?"

I shrugged.

"Can I interest you in a revenge smash?"

I wish I could smash the barstool into his face, silencing that smile forever.

"Seriously? You and Brand are the two biggest pussies I've ever had the pleasure of calling my homies."

I turned away from Loch before the explosion of insults erupted. My eyes circled the room and rested on the opening door. Finley stood alone, illuminated by the jukebox, smiling like a fiend. She let her shoulders rise and fall and pressed one button with her index finger. She & Him crooned from the speakers.

Finley mouthed the words along with Zooey. Her smirk pulled me in like a magnet.

I moved through the crowd like they were just outlines in the lowlight.

Her hands were extended and open. I clasped them tentatively.

"'Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?' Good choice."

Her blush fired up in her cheeks. "Alden, I'm sorry. I'm a douche."

I shook my head. "No, worse than that."

"Tampon?"

"Ew, not that bad. But closer."

She grinned. "Seriously, I'm so sorry. I'm terrible at this."

I drew her into me and we swayed to the slow, rhythmic melodies. I curled my fingers into her hair and breathed into her ear: "This is new to the both of us… But you've got to tell me what goes on in that head."

I felt her nod under my fingers. She breathed into me and pressed her head closer.

* * *

**Selene**

I'm done waiting.

If Finley can't break them up herself. I'll do it. I've always been a self-starter.

Thatcher was poised in the corner with murder in his eyes.

Lochlan was allowing the bar to hold him up, assassination on his tongue.

Even Eden was ready for a massacre.

_Two hearts, that's all I need to set things right._


	20. The Woman at the Well

Hello... old friends... Um, I feel like the end of this chapter is dedicated to you guys... You'll get it then.

Sorry. I deserve it.

Song Suggestion: Too Little Too Late: Department of Eagles

**

* * *

Erik**

"You can take the bags to the building along the East Wall. Thank you." I slide the bill between the man's clammy fingers.

Hey tries to conceal his eye's millisecond peek at the hundred dollar burning a mark across the slip of paper, but he cannot steal past my eyes. He blanches and stows it quickly in his pocket and is gone.

I exhale as I allow my toes to tap rhythmically across the grounds. I haven't felt this at home in quite some time. Professors great me warmly as they pass and welcome me in a long overdue fashion.

Only two people are left on my list. My girls.

But soft, one saunters toward me in the moonlight like a swan on a diamond lake. Her pale faces smiles and her dark eyes glisten.

My love, you are here. At last...

* * *

**Selene**

So quickly we finished. It was nothing really. Just a flip of my wrist. A snap of my fingers. It was like a staccato solo in a simple melody. Beautiful science, without adornment. A plus B must always equal C.

Alden had stormed out. Such an easy call, really. He's so predictable. I can't help but replay the conversation we are about to have as I stride towards his dorm. I force my exalted self deep into my brain. She can't come out until later. For now, I am to be sad because he is sad. It's the kind way to play it.

And now, I prove how much I love him.

How much I am willing to act for him.

* * *

_30 Minutes Earlier_

**Thatcher**

It's time to let go.

They are dancing because you sent her back to him. And apparently, it was the right thing to do. Because apparently, they want to be happy together.

I am a good friend and brother. I'm not patting myself on the back, but I am seeking ways to be okay with what I am witnessing….

I pay my tab and prepare to leave. Checking my phone I see that Erik Night is to arrive in just over 30 minutes. As Head of Security, I am to meet him at the House, go over security measures.

"Thanks, Ms. Bartender, I had an excellent evening. Perhaps we can do it again sometime?" I say smiling, passing my cash.

"Anytime, sweet thing. Just bring that firm ass of yours and we got ourselves a quarter dropping evening." She smiles and shoves the money in her back pocket.

"Hey, Thatch, are you leaving because of all the awkwardness?" A little red headed girl asks me with a candy smile.

I squint and try my very hardest to remember her name. Its hard enough to remember all of Eden's friends weirdo names, but even harder in this light. I decide its less important to remember her name and more important to feel out her question. "I'm sorry. I don't think I know what you are talking about." I tack on a quick relatively fake grin.

"You know, you, Alden, Eden, Finley?" She bites her straw as she waits for my answer.

"Um, sure, a bit. But it's more awkward you guys are all underage and _here."_

"Of course, you get all cop when the serious comes out. That's so predictable! And sweet! You've got to cover that soft center with a hard shell. I would too. Protect that big bear heart of yours!" She pats my arm and hops off the neighboring bar stool.

"That was weird…" I murmur to myself and trail her small body through crowd with my eyes.

She stops at Alden. He had pulled away from Fin for a minute, laughing with Brand and Loch. They all look back to normal, I think. That's nice. Things are getting back to normal.

But quickly—like a Biblical lightning storm—things change. I could see his face from here. El Diablo would be frightened to perceive his eyes and they shot through the crowd and locked on mine. Red and fierce. Demonic.

* * *

**Alden**

"I'm so sorry, Alden." Blaise mumbles. "I didn't want to be the one who had to tell you… but I heard it from the horses, well more like gorilla's mouth." She ran her hand down my arm and squeezed it in mock affection.

"You mean to tell me, Thatcher, confided in _you_?" I spit.

"I guess he doesn't feel close to anyone right now… being the new guy in town. Maybe he has a crush on me. I don't know…" Blaise giggles.

"That'll be all, Blaise." I dismiss.

She nods once and vacates the area. As does the rest of the people in the immediate area around me. The force of my gaze was like a hot laser, locked on the eyes of my brother.

I could literally feel the crowd falling silent as they waited in expectation for the gavel to fall. Everything moved like slowly moving pieces.

The turn of my head took minutes.

I saw her, laughing and smiling like the fiend she really was. All of this. I was willing to give her absolutely all of me. But she was only willing to give me the scrap pieces fallen from my brother's table. Not only that, she was perfectly able to lie about this whilst crucifying me for past mistakes.

Whore.

Slut.

Harridan.

Bitch.

All these words ricocheted around my brain, smashing and blasting any decent memory I had of her. Now, newly formed visions of her and my brother, rolling and biting, and sucking and kissing… I had to hold the corner of the table to keep from vomiting.

"Alden, what the hel—" Finley's voice sung over my shoulder. She was like a siren, sent from hell to lure me from my life of leisure. To trap me on the rocks where she would torture me forever.

I shrugged her off forcefully. She fumbled quickly toward the bar where Thatcher stood quickly to catch the fallen beauty.

I turned to Loch and Brand. "I suggest you leave here immediately." With that, I flipped over my phone and sent one message to my mother. PARTYING AT TA LOCAL BAR, LOOK WHO I FOUND. SORRY MOM. With that I added a quick picture of Finley and Thatcher.

"Never, ever speak or look at me again." I turn to walk away.

"Alden!" Finley screams. "_Sundance_!" It was obvious she was summoning ever spell she could for her last entreaty.

I whip around. "You are absolutely nothing to me. Everything we _had_ was a massive façade. I wanted to see what you tasted like! If you were as whorish as you smelled to the rest of us. And guess what? I won. I was right. Loch and Selene and I had you figured out from the moment you stumbled through those doors. You must have though you'd won the damn lottery, getting to pretend to be royalty. HA! And now, things can go back to how they were. _You _are beneath my notice. A flea in a castle of gold. _You don't belong with me._ You never did."

Thatcher's arm curled around her quaking body as it threatened to collapse to the floor.

My brain threatened to expose me for a moment. But I held to my wrath. "I'm sorry. Did you think _this_—" I motioned between her heart and mine—" was _real_? Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I guess you don't know a real actor when you see one."

* * *

**Finley**

I've never witnessed a public assassination.

A public stoning.

Being drug out of your house by the man you love, tossed at the feet of the man you slipped into.

Every word was a stone, more sharp and penetrating than the last.

All was as fraudulent as a four dollar bill. Our 'love' was nothing more than a disgusting and none-too-obvious bet on the new girl at school by the ass-backward cool kids. I never thought I'd be here. I always considered myself the type who'd just pick up the stones and beat them to death with their own bullshit. But this time... I knew I was deserving of this.

I took the abuse. I needed it. It was catharsis for my sins. I felt purged. Funny, it's almost like suicide, if you think about it this way.

It was all over.

* * *

Don't stone me. I'm sorry. I'm back.


	21. Reset, Repeat

**Here you go my friends. Went on vacation, started a new school year, all that jazz. **

**Read and review as always. You guys have been a bit off when it comes to that and I KNOW the drama is still as high as always, so if I've pissed you off along the way, I'm sorry. Stick with it, we winding it up pretty soon.**

**Song Suggestion: Cartwheels by the Reindeer Section**

**

* * *

Finley**

My suicide was quick. I wish I could say it was liberating. But hell, death is not a release from your asstastic prior life of sins into a new rainbow and unicorn parauniverse of sunshine and cupcakes. Apparently, you still have to deal with your own shit.

It blows.

Now, don't think I've gone all emo on you, wearing my bangs as a permanent leave-me-the-hell-alone mask of grease. I am just very, very aware of my what I've done and the ish that I've caused. I also promise to wash my hair and remain cognizant of the fact that I've dabbled in whorish ways.

After that ridiculous call out the slutty girl in front of the whole school, I did what any other normal person (not just girl) would do in that situation that I found myself in, I pulled myself up from my victim-on-bar-floor stance, and walked away.

I didn't stay for the phone photos and pitiful/entertained looks from my new schoolmates. I allowed Thatcher to escort me out, load me up into his car for the second time in a week, and deliver me to safety.

I am sure as hell getting a little miffed to continually find myself in this situation. But I can't lie to my subconscious, that little bitch knew this would happen and her snotty self tried to warn me. But I was too high on what I thought was a perfect life to try to do the right thing.

Drawing indiscriminate symbols into the misty glass, I allowed Thatcher to mumble words I didn't hear for a while. I refused to listen while we drove back to the House.

He patted my elbow, paused, waited, and watched me, then exited the vehicle in resignation. I didn't detest his absence. Being alone was what I needed. For some reason, people like me never need to be coddled and held until we cry it all out. I need you to back off, let me think, maybe tear up if I can muster the fluids, until I'm totally ready to release a statement. People never get that.

I guess it's because I'm a little stranger than most. But at this point, there's no changing me. So I don't even try. Most of the time I don't even search for the tears, because they don't exist. This time is no different.

My welcome solace is not because I don't think Thatcher is a standup fellow. He really is great. Super white knight with matching accessories and all. What girl doesn't dream of a magical prince, atop a white stead, with a fantastic sense of what makes one's arms look fantastic in tight t-shirts, and a ridiculous ability to save one from public humiliation (_almost_ always)? Thatcher is _fan_-tastic. Seriously, I'm a fan.

I wish that my fandom were more than that. That it was something carnal and visceral to us. That when he left I felt my stomach fall to my toes. That when he admitted to me in front of the entire student body, that I was just some sort of ridiculously cliché bet he had between all of his carney-reject friends, I felt like even though I hate all-things teen-movie-clichéd, I still would have a ridiculously hard time _not_ taking him back. Even though everything within me that screams practicality would tell me I am an idiot who belongs on the cover of stupid young adult novels about dopey ditzs. Although past-me would tell present-me to go on, leave him behind, find some new dude to cuddle up with and talk politics. I can't. Because who I am now and not who I was then… I'm different; all that advice no longer applies. Alden is incomparable to any I have ever met or can ever hope to come across. And I can't blame him for this. I can't point my finger at him and scream, "SHAME!" Because I_ know_ that the villain in this was/is me.

So Thatcher should run from this screaming. I'm no heroine to rally behind.

I slash my hand through my mist doodle of a tree, leaving nothing but water droplets and fingerprints.

I legitimately hate my stream of consciousness right now.

I need to go to a studio.

I need to purge in another way other than run-on thoughts that threaten to devour my sanity.

I need to paint until my fingers fall off, my eyes cross, and my brain melts. Until my canvas is so covered it looks like a nighttime sky before the end of the world.

* * *

**Thatcher**

My phone is buzzing like a car bomb in the Middle East.

I hate leaving her like that, she was practically catatonic, but I know my mother is beyond reason at this point. I didn't think I could ever see someone who exudes such strength look so beyond weak. Even her curls looked zapped.

I pictured her again in my mind. Drawing insanely on the window, fingers shaking almost imperceptibly, black hair lank around her muted eyes. Those eyes that are usually so bright they seem almost electric. I could blame the rain or the night or the chill, but all would be untrue. She is suffering.

How quickly things shift and redraw themselves. One moment I am signing her over to my brother, the next he is spouting whatever hateful syllables he can string together to inflict the most pain. Though, I can't shake the feeling he held back. I know Alden and I know his tongue can, at some—if not most—be forked. It was dramatic and it was awful, but it wasn't as abhorrent as he could have been.

What stayed his hand for the second backhand?

I sweep through the Grand Piazza doors as my fellow soldiers salute me with an air of warning. I nod tersely and follow the long hallway with strides that crashed explosively through the marble room.

Obviously, Alden has done something. His anger is always something that implodes like a star, turning in on itself first, razing everything that he holds precious, then when he is as miserable as he can possibly be, he turns to the world, ravenously sucking it all in, destroying what he can take into his gravitational pull.

First on the docket, was me.

* * *

**Alden**

The musical knock had turned from something that was mildly annoying into a booming radically rage-inducing pounding.

In the middle of a particularly long riff, I throw open the door to see Selene's coat wrapped around her hand in mid strike.

"Well, that took long enough," She huffed and threw the leather jacket across a chair, slamming the door behind her.

"Most people tend to the get the point. I forget you are either more idiotic than most or too self-involved to care." I wasn't sure which was worse.

"I'll take that in stride considering your dramatic evening." She threw herself into my unwilling line of vision.

I close my eyes in response. I don't want to _look_ at anyone.

Uncharacteristically soft, "Alden, I didn't come to fight with you. I came to _be_ with you. I know our relationship is complicated, but before all of that, I was your oldest friend."

A silent movie burst forth from the dusty, cobwebbed annals of my mind. A little strawberry blonde girl chasing a dark headed boy. Pinning him down, forcing kisses all over his face.

I would elbow her off of me but pause for a moment, just a second was enough, to ensure she'd chase me again. A soft wave of curled hair and dimples. Always in pink, always a gift wrapped in smiles.

Child Selene was so different than she was now. But for now, I needed that girl. For _now_ I desperately required her presence.

My hands found my hair and balled into painful fists, but my eyes remained latched tightly against the world. Rewinding the old movies and watching. Remembering what life was like in pink, dimpled youth. So _simple_.

She didn't say more, but I felt her. Her hands pulled mine from their follicle prison and held tightly to them. Selene stroked my hands, then my arms, then my back, until I was released from my stiff, straight-backed position. I leaned against her, but only slightly until I allowed myself to see again.

My world rushed to me through the mist of unuse. Floating up, through the colors, was a painting of vibrant vermillion. I've always found the hue strangely calming in its vigor.

Crimson lips.

I turned my face with a snap. A new pair of lips greeted my eyes. Pale and rosy, tight with sadness. Selene, stared at me, clenched, as she waited for whatever words I would vomit out of anger.

I didn't say a word. Because words were fiends. Nothing I could utter would describe what it felt like to fall into this pit. I _wanted_ to feel pain. But with those varnished lips waiting so patiently, I pushed the pain into a back corner.

I remembered what it was like to be young and love only that which was simple and easy. What _always_ loved me back.

I pulled her lips onto mine and propelled myself into pale numbness.

* * *

**Erik**

Well, that had not gone to plan.

A swift, corporate embrace.

A phone call.

A dismissal.

I came to this school to try. For the first time in my life, I _want_ to try to win. Not for me—well if I do win, I'm sure I'll be quite happy—but for love, her love. I'm being unselfish. She doesn't understand the depths of the love that I could give if I only was allowed the chance without the shackles of ignorant youth.

I'll give her time. I shall woo her with the romance that I can now be afforded.

But first, I am to check on my daughter. Her avoidance issues are reaching strange new heights and I've about had all of the drama I can for one evening. My emotions are floating on the surface and if I am not ensured of her safety and/or express happiness, I can't be held accountable for my less than savory actions.

Exiting my finely furnished new apartment, I stride to the dormitories assigned to the female students. The excitement of seeing the best thing about my life for the first time in weeks is somewhere between Christmas morning and Oscar night.

I nod to several students gracefully and continue my trek to her room. I feel their eyes follow me in feverish excitement.

I pause and consider calling as a warning, but realize it's too late; I'm outside of her door.

I knock and wait for the invitation to enter.

"Coming." Answers the other side of the door.

How very commonplace! Her roommate must be the run-of-the-mill vamp student. She will be happy to meet Fin's relatively famous father. I adopt my tabloid smile—its best for fans, my most non-threatening smile and prepare for a rush of the normal celebrity conversation topics.

The door swings open and I flash back to a time long ago. Outside this building, in a dark, uninhabited corner of the courtyard, where surely no one would have seen us… She promised this would help us grow closer and those feelings would not bother us again… We just needed intimacy… Just this one time... And who I was I to turn down that sort of proposition? The night I met Zo, the night I decided _Aphrodite_ was no longer good enough for me anymore.

Her white face stared back with something strange. And just as quickly as it had come, my eyes perceived the differences between her visage and her mother's. Her eyes were her father's. Ringing with a strange quiet strength and kindness. Suddenly, her face was highlighted with the distinctions that separated her from her mother and I marveled at how dissimilar they really were.

"Eden, is it?" I ask, staggering under the weight of memories but scrambling to remain present and as un-creepy as possible.

"Yes, and you're Erik Night, Fin's dad." She smiled with forced lips.

"Yes, ma'am. I was looking for my daughter. Is she here?" My eyes darted around the seemingly vacant room.

Eden shook her head quickly. "No, she's not… I don't really know where she is right now. I would assume she'd be returning soon, though."

Her voice was odd. Of course she'd be returning soon, first there was curfew, then there was the whole issue with the fact that the sun would be a bit uncomfortable, and finally sleeping in any other person's bed would most likely give me some sort of red-rage of murder. And I really didn't need that on my first 24 hours of arriving at the Tulsa House.

"Well, if I lose my daughter, I usually find her in front of a canvas. Where are your studios, again?"

Eden gave me quick directions and I made my way awkwardly across campus. None of my meetings are going to plan and I feel nothing but bitterness about it.

I've got to stop building these things up in my head and embossing them with glitter. But it's so damn hard to turn off the Hollywood in my head. At least I don't require a room full of amenities to squelch my dramatic tendencies... Well, aside from my single malt room above my apartment. But that's just for sanity's sake.

* * *

_**Well? What do you think? PLEASE LET ME KNOW! I need to know what you are thinking about the story.**_


	22. Father's Fury

I'm back. Oops. It's been too long.

Read and review.

* * *

**Thatcher**

I breeze through the doors and halt immediately. My mother stands like a great Michelangelo marble statue, larger than life, biting and immobilizing. Her tattooed fingers grip her opposing arms, threatening puncture wounds in her own flesh.

"Mom, I'm so—" I begin.

A silent hand forces my next words to flee. She steps forward and motions for the doors behind me to slam in a frightening crash. I haven't felt this afraid since I was five and I had lost Alden while we were playing in the park… He had fallen and broken his arm and I knew it was my fault. I walked towards her, just as I did that day, ashamed and fearful, hiding my broken brother behind me.

"Thatcher what type of oath have you taken to remain in my service?" She asks, eyes flinty.

"The oath of protection, ma'am," I respond in my military tone.

"Yes and in those oaths does it ever demand blessing children in their desires to drunkenness?"

"No."

"Oh, so you have no arguments?" She asks, eyebrows pointed.

"No."

My mother takes an echoing step towards me. "So you willingly allowed _my_ students to bring down judgment upon the House of Night but also place their lives in danger. Not only did you _allow_ them to partake in activities that are detrimental to their already feeble health, but you _joined in the festivities._"

"Mom," I allow my eyes to find hers. "I was at the bar on my own. They arrived and yes, I should have removed them. But there were so many of them, so I figured I should stick around and make sure things were under control. I admit, this decision was not the correct one." Her eyes soften. "So, I resign as Warrior Standard. I will ask to be readmitted into the Academy and relearn my oaths and all that pertains to them."

I feel her hands before I hear her words. "Baby, I just needed you to see your error. I don't need you to be reborn." She smiles and kisses my forehead. "Just because you are a full fledged Vampyre now does not mean perfection. You are growing. But, I will have to publicly punish you…" Her eyes flutter up as she thinks of my punishment. "Why don't you take Erik Night security detail?"

My mind explodes. Not only is it such a step down, but also it's Erik Night, Finley's father, my own father's nemesis, and generally known conceited blow-hard and philanderer.

"Sure, that would be the least I could do."

* * *

** Finley**

I'm soaked through with paint. I mean, it looks like I've swum in it.

I'm back in the tiny sweatbox of a room painting the most gruesome painting I've ever even thought about.

Crimson covers my body. I change my mind, it doesn't look like I went swimming… I look like I've been shot.

I don't care, now my outsides match my insides. It feels strangely apropos.

The canvas is nearly six feet long, a panoramic view of a tortured woman. The people crowd about her and each inflicting their own punishments and her blood runs like river water.

"_Love_?" My father's voice cracks in pain at my back.

I turn and take in his petrified face. It is as if his entire face has been removed and another, tragic mask as been pasted onto his head. And finally, the tears come; I melt into a human bag of emotions. I'm suddenly no longer muscles, bones, and organs, but just tears. I run to my daddy. I sprint like the tiny child I feel like in my heart.

"Love, darling, are you alright? What is the matter? _Please, tell me_!" He's sobbing now, crying because I am, because when I hurt his heart is also maimed.

I can't tell him so I sit and sob as he rocks me and grieves my pain. Dad brushes my hair back, wipes the red paint from my face and hands as I cry. Doing all of the things he did when I was younger and had gone into a toddler tirade.

After a long time I can form words: "I lost it, Dad."

His eyes are hard and disoriented. "Lost what?"

"Love. I know it sounds so silly, but I did it. And it _hurts_. You never told me _how badly this hurts._ It feels like someone burned up everything inside of me. Why did you never tell me what _this_ feels like?" I don't realize I am hitting my own chest violently until my father stays my hand.

He draws me in a hard embrace. "Love, my heart, because I hoped you'd never, ever feel this way. _Never._" I feel a tear roll down my back.

"Daddy, it hurts, it hurts so badly." I whimper and he nods and rocks me for what seems like forever.

We sat until morning, covered in vermillion, streaks down our faces and creases where my face has fallen asleep against his shoulder. I am five years old again. I wake up and I see that daddy's eyes have not closed longer than a fleeting wink. He has sat staring at my painting. The woman's painful likeness to me is terrifying. He says little, only to check my state. My father walks me back to my dorm room and shields me from every sideways glance. By the end of the funeral of my old life, my dad knows everything. Every word that was a painful arrow to my heart, every sin I committed myself, every bit of the hatred that had incinerated my organs. He tells me to sleep. He promises me he'll take care of it all.

I allow him to be my daddy. I concede to his way of doing things, knowing full well what that means.

* * *

**Alden**

I awake tangled in every bit of Selene and sheets. Strangled, feeling as if I have fallen asleep with a python, I struggle violently to free myself. She hardly wakes. Her peaceful smile is painted on her face.

The smiling face makes me nauseated.

A knock sounds once again and I realize why I have woken.

Knowing the knocker to be one of my own friends, I don't rush to clothe myself; I just pull on boxers as I swing open the door. "Loch, I don't want to go to cla-"

As the door swings open my blood runs cold and then freezes completely.

"Hello," echoes a sinister voice. "I don't believe we've ever met, I'm Erik Night. Finely's father." His dark suited arms are folded behind his back. They are flexing in strength, as I am sure he is wringing his hands. Obviously, struggling to maintain his calm. His pale eyes are red and puffy, it's obvious his night has been long and strenuous.

"Hello sir." I mock his tone. "This isn't really a good time, I am about to head to class," I answer as I begin to close my door, hoping I can head of whatever fatherly duty he thinks he is about to do.

His hand moves faster than my eyes can perceive the movement. It clutches the door like his hand is cemented to it. I follow the arm to his face and his strong jaw is cutting through his chin like glass as he grinds his teeth. "I think now will be perfectly acceptable." He throws the door back and it slams against the wall with a thunderous bang, sending papers flying, paintings to crash to the floor, and finally, most inconveniently, awaking Selene who sits straight up in bed alerting the world to her debaucherous presence.

I hope Erik cannot see her. But of course luck is not mine this morning.

"Ah, well my apologies. It's incredibly rude to break up a business transaction. I can step out whilst you get your full money's worth." His words were silky but tasted like candied poison.

Selene was aghast. Her mouth began to form a word when I cut her off. "Mr. Night, this is all uncalled for. I did not elicit your opinion, nor do I think my mother would find these insults savory."

"_Shut your mouth_, boy." I take a step back as his words pelt me like daggers. "I assure you, my insults are the least of your worries. I would kill you _right now_ if that would not murder your mother. Instead, I plan to torture you in the way that you have tormented my daughter." Erik Night's entire body goes calm and for the first time I feel genuinely fearful. "Your mother may think the world of you, but I promise that world is going to shatter before she can even blink. It will disintegrate and you _will have no one_. You think this precious legacy passed down from your parents will always protect you." He laughs a derisive chuckle. "But after I am finished, no one will want to touch you. _A leper among family._ Good day. " He nods to me and then peeks his head towards Selene. "Oh, and I'd just make the speech count for you also. Selling your body will kill you, you know." He winks once and exits.


End file.
